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Wit    and    Humor 
Of   the    Stage 


^ 


A  COLLECTION  FROM  VARIOUS  SOURCES 

CLASSIFIED  UNDER 

APPROPRIATE  SUBJECT  HEADINGS 


PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1909,  by 

George  \V.  Jacobs  &  Company 

Published,  July,   igog 


All  rights  reserved 
Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


Contents 

CHAP. 

Prologue    . 
I.     Stories  of  the  Stars    . 
II.     Some  Stage  Mishaps     . 

III.  The  Eternal  Feminine 

IV.  (^uiPS  AND  Quirks 
V.     In  Hard  Luck 

VI,     Jefferson  and  His  Friends 
VII.     First  Person  Singular 
VIII.     From  the  Audience 


PACE 

5 

9 

55 
92 

1 24 

•55 

»74 
185 

Z09 


919125 


Prologue 

Since  all  the  world's  a  stage,  and  men  and 
women  merely  puppets  thereon,  playing  their 
mimic  parts, — vide  a  certain  great  dramatist 
named  William  Shakespeare, — it  follows  that 
there  should  be  an  audience  and  readers  for  a 
collection  of  humoresques  culled  from  the  say- 
ings and  doings  of  plays  and  players,  for  in  no 
other  age  has  the  theatre  filled  so  large  a  canvas 
in  the  eye  of  the  public  as  now. 

The  actor,  of  either  gender,  apparently,  can- 
not escape  from  the  lime-light,  whether  on  or  off 
the  stage.  His — or  her — sayings  and  doings, 
professional  or  private,  are  minutely  chronicled 
and  avidly  read  by  the  dear  public,  and  every 
performer  of  any  prominence  really  plays  to  a 
far  wider  audience  than  he  reaches  across  the 
footlights. 

By  no  means  all  the  funny  sayings,  doings, 
and  happenings  in  stage-land  occur  in  the  course 
of  regular  dramatic  presentations,  yet  some  of 
the  most  ludicrous  and  unforeseen  contretemps 
pass  unnoticed  by  the  onlookers ;  many  a  side- 
splitting quip  and  jest,  and  a  good  deal  of  what 


6  I>rologue 

is  technically  known  as  "guying,"  never  "  gets 
across." 

From  the  days  of  the  strolling  player  to  the 
present,  the  noble  guild  of  mummers  has  per- 
force been  possessed  of  an  inexhaustibly  happy 
unconcern  and  a  very  pretty  wit ;  there  is  no 
wonder,  then,  that  as  a  class  actors  and  actresses, 
whether  at  work  or  at  play,  should  furnish  a 
goodly  literature  of  retort,  bon  mot,  or  witty 
impromptu. 

The  profession,  too,  is  full  of  kaleidoscopic 
changes,  of  rapid  transitions  from  grave  to  gay, 
of  startling  and  surprising  mutations  of  fortune ; 
hence  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  actor  comes  to 
regard  the  greater  drama  which  we  call  life  as 
more  or  less  of  a  jest  and  to  take  his  cue  ac- 
cordingly. 

In  the  following  pages  some  attempt  has  been 
made  to  cull  the  best  examples  of  stage  wit  and 
humor, — not,  of  course,  by  way  of  quotation 
from  comedy  or  burlesque,  but  by  collating  the 
actual  humorous  sayings  and  doings  of  theatre 
folk,  by  narrating  examples  of  ludicrous  happen- 
ings here  and  there,  practical  jokes,  witty  stories, 
and  personal  anecdotes. 

Effort  has  been  made  to  avoid  the  trite,  the 
hackneyed,  and  those  veteran  war-horses  of 
stage  humor  that  have  done  duty  since  the  days 


prologue  7 

of  Joe  Miller,  although  here  and  there  some  of 
the  citations  possess  a  fairly  respectable  lineage. 

In  reality  the  present  writer  was  confronted 
with  an  embarrassment  of  riches  in  the  shape  of 
available  material ;  space  limitations  compelling 
the  rejection  of  much  otherwise  valuable  ma- 
terial. 

However,  it  is  believed  that  this  little  volume, 
whatever  its  other  shortcomings,  cannot  be  ac- 
cused of  being  antiquated,  and  makes  its  bow  to 
the  general  public  in  the  words  of  Rip  Van 
Winkle  :  "  Here's  to  your  very  good  healths  and 
your  families." 


Wit  and  Humor  of  the  Stage 

CHAPTER  I 

Stories  of  the  Stars 

The  number  of  more  or  less  witty  anecdotes 
recounted  of  the  shining  lights  of  stage-land  seems 
to  increase  with  the  popularity  and  the  vogue  of 
the  actor  or  the  actress.  To  be  a  successful 
Thespian  necessarily  implies  the  possession  of 
more  than  a  spoonful  of  brains,  and  while  every 
performer  may  not  be  a  wit,  it  is  equally  certain 
that  not  every  wit  could  be  an  actor.  These 
stories  of  the  stars  which  follow,  however,  prove 
that  the  profession  at  large  possesses  a  "very 
pretty  humor,  sir." 


A  Growing  Resemblance 

Sir  Charles  Wyndham  tells  a  joke  against 
himself  about  the  time  when  he  first  put  on 
David  Gar  rick. 

One  afternoon,  during  the  run  of  the  piece, 
Wyndham  was  sitting  in  the  corridor  of  the 
Garrick  Club,  under  Garrick's  portrait,  in  the 
Garrick  chair,  which  is  one  of  the  club's  treas- 
ures, when  Henry  Hamilton,  the  dramatist,  en- 


10         mtt  an&  Ibumor  ot  tbc  Stage 

tered.  He  gazed  upon  Wyndham;  then  upon 
the  portrait  of  Garrick,  and  then  upon  Wynd- 
ham again. 

"  Charles,"  he  said  finally,  "  do  you  know  that 
you  are  growing  more  like  Garrick  every  day  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  returned  the  actor,  with 
gratification.      "  Very  glad,  I'm  sure." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  proceeded  Hamilton  thought- 
fully, "and  less  like  him  every  night." 

Wyndham's  German 

Wyndham,  on  his  first  trip  to  Germany,  was 
approached  on  board  ship  by  a  young  lady  who 
was  much  perturbed  in  regard  to  her  baggage. 
As  she  did  not  speak  German,  she  expected  all 
sorts  of  troubles  with  the  custom  officials. 
Young  Wyndham  volunteered  his  services,  and 
when  the  custom  officer  began  to  examine  her 
baggage,  he  started  to  give  the  necessary  infor- 
mation in  his  best  German.  The  man  listened 
patiently  for  a  moment,  and  then  interru[)ted 
with  : 

"  Young  man,  won't  you  please  speak  English  ? 
Your  German  hurts  me  !  " 

The  Exiles 
It  was  Will  McConnell  who  gave  a  certain  New 
York  chop-house  the  name  by  which  it  is  now 


limit  an&  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage         ii 

known  among  actors,  particularly  those  that  be- 
long to  a  certain  club. 

"Let's  go  to  the  Cafe  des  Exiles,''  he  said 
one  night,  "  and  try  supper  there." 

The  rest  of  the  party  supposed  he  referred  to 
some  new  French  resort  and  were  surprised  to 
wind  up  at  Browne's. 

"Why,  this  is  the  same  old  joint,"  one  of 
them  said.     "  What  did  you  call  it?  " 

^^  Cafe  des  Exiles,''  he  said,  "because  no 
actor  here  dare  go  over  to  the  Lambs',  as  he's 
posted  for  dues  or  house  charges.  They're  all 
exiled  to  this  place  until  they  pay  up." 

Since  that  night  the  members  of  the  Lambs' 
have  known  the  chop-house  by  no  other  name. 


Ready  Wit  Saved  Him 

Augustus  Thomas,  the  playwright,  was  prais- 
ing John  Drew's  wit. 

"Drew  is  the  wittiest  man  I  ever  met,"  he 
said.  "He  is  never  at  a  loss.  In  any  crisis, 
any  emergency,  his  wit  saves  him. 

"Once,  in  his  youth,  he  forgot  his  lines  in  a 
Sheridan  comedy. 

"  Dressed  as  a  young  fop,  he  stood  convers- 
ing with  a  soldier,  and  suddenly  his  memory 


12         imtt  anJ)  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

went  back  on  him.  E^very  word  of  his  part  left 
his  head. 

"  He  looked  impatiently  at  the  prompter. 
The  prompter's  lips  moved,  but  Drew  could  not 
make  out  what  the  man  said.  So  he  muttered, 
'  Louder,  prompter,  louder  ! '  And  a  murmur 
came  to  him,  but  it  was  a  murmur  which  he 
could  not  understand. 

"  In  this  crisis  many  a  man  would  have  given 
himself  up  for  lost.     Not  so  Mr.  Drew. 

"  *  I  will  return  anon,'  he  said  to  the  soldier 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  and  stalked  off  to  read 
up  his  part." 


Booth's  Most  Memorable  Engagement 
Edwin  Booth  once  told  a  little  company  of 
his  intimates  that  the  most  romantic,  most  mem- 
orable, and  most  delightful  engagement  that  he 
ever  played  in  his  life  was  one  in  which  he  was 
obliged  to  paste  his  own  bills. 

It  was  in  the  early  years  of  his  career,  long 
before  his  famous  hundred  night  run  of  Hamlet 
at  the  Winter  Garden  in  New  York,  and  at  a 
time  when  romance  and  enthusiasm  were  still 
young  in  his  heart.  He  had  played  with 
varying  success  in  many  parts  of  the  country 
that  were  large  enough  to  supply  him  with  au- 


Mtt  anJ)  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage         13 

diences.  Here  he  had  done  so  well  that  he  felt 
encouraged  to  try  his  fortune  in  still  remoter 
climes,  and  accordingly  embarked  from  the 
Golden  Gate  for  the  Hawaiian  Islands,  where, 
in  the  Honolulu  Theatre  and  under  the  direct 
patronage  of  the  dark  brown  royalty  that  then 
held  sway,  he  played  an  engagement  to  which 
he  looked  back  in  after  years  with  much  pleas- 
ure and  satisfaction. 

"  But  after  the  play  was  over,"  said  Booth, 
"  I  found  it  necessary  to  climb  down  from  the 
high  plane  of  art  to  common  ground  and  take 
steps  to  announce  my  repertoire  to  the  public. 
This  was  done  almost  entirely  by  way  of  posters, 
and  I  could  not  trust  the  job  to  the  native  boys, 
because  they  always  ate  the  paste  and  threw 
away  the  bills.     My  actors  would  not  do  it,  be- 
cause they  were  such  eminent  artists  and  thor- 
oughbred gentlemen  ;  so  I  had  to  do  it  myself. 
Many  a  time  have  I  taken  off  the  costume  of 
lago,  or  Hamlet,  or  Othello,  and  gone  out  with 
a  bucket  of  paste  and  a  roll  of  paper  to  '  bill  the 
town,'  as  we  say  here  in  America,  for  my  next 
appearance." 


Sothern  and  Wallack 
At  a   "gambol"    of  the  celebrated  Lambs' 


14         nait  an£)  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

Club  in  New  York,  the  late  E.  A.  Sothern 
and  the  equally  late  Lester  Wailack  were 
present. 

Although  fast  friends,  not  even  the  English- 
man's regard  for  the  American  could  restrain 
"  Dundreary's  "  unquenchable  propensity  for 
"ragging."  At  a  pause  in  the  conversation 
Mr.  Sothern  said  : 

"  Had  a  most  curious  dream  the  other  night." 

The  auditors,  scenting  some  mischief,  de- 
manded the  rest  of  the  story. 

"  Well,"  drawled  Sothern,  "  I  dreamed  I  was 
dead,  and  on  my  way  to  the  upper  world.  Ar- 
riving outside  the  gate  of  the  Celestial  City  I 
rapped  for  admittance.  St.  Peter  appeared  ;it 
the  open  door  and  demanded  my  name,  pedi- 
gree, and  profession. 

"  '  I  am  an  actor,'  I  finally  told  him. 

"'Sorry,'  said  the  saint,  'but  no  actors  are 
admitted.' 

"  Sorrowfully  I  turned  away,  and  sat  down 
by  the  roadside  to  rest  and  decide  what  I  should 
do  next.  Presently  along  came  Lester  Wailack, 
— also  dead.  I  grinned  to  myself,  anticipating 
the  answer  he'd  get.  But  to  my  amazement 
when  he  rapped,  the  gate  swung  wide  open  and 
St.  Peter  drew  him  inside  with  a  welcoming 
smile  and  a  glad  hand.     That  made  me  mad, 


Xillit  anD  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage         is 

because  I  regardetl  it  as  a  case  of  rankly  unfair 
discrimination. 

"  So  I  marched  up  to  the  gate  once  more  and 
knocked  loudly.      Again  St.  Peter  appeared. 

"  '  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  actors  were  not  wanted 
here?'  he  inquired  quite  crossly. 

"'You  did,'  I  answered.  'But  1  noticed 
that  you  just  let  in  my  old  friend  Lester  Wallack. 
He  is  an  actor.     Why  keep  me  out  ?  ' 

"St.  Peter  drew  back  and  made  to  shut  the 
door,  saying  in  frigid  tones : 

"  '  You  are  mistaken  ;  Lester  Wallack  is  no 
actor!'" 


What  Belasco  Had  Written 

Hearing  that  David  Belasco  was  engaged  on 
a  new  play,  a  reporter  stopped  him  on  the  street 
to  inquire  concerning  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Belasco,  "I  am  writing  a 
play.      What  do  you  want  to  know  about  it  ?  " 

"Anything  you  can  tell  me,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Well,  it  is  to  have  five  acts  and  three  inter- 
missions," said  the  playwright,  "and  I've  just 
finished  the  intermissions." 

He  Brought  His  Family 
On  another  occasion  Belasco  was  discussing 
with    a    theatrical    manager    the    troublesome 


16         IKait  anO  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage 

**  Free-seats  "  problem,  and  related  an  experience 
a  friend  of  his  had  had  in  the  West.  This 
friend  was  taking  a  company  on  tour.  One 
night  he  met  an  influential  citizen  in  a  hotel, 
and  before  they  parted  the  manager  had  invited 
the  citizen  to  come  to  his  show  the  next  night 
and  "bring  his  family."  About  eight  o'clock 
the  next  night  the  man  put  his  head  into  the  box- 
office  window  and  was  immediately  recognized 
by  the  manager. 

"How  many  have  you  with  you?"  the  latter 
asked  pleasantly,  as  he  prepared  to  write  out  the 
pass. 

"Well,  some  of  my  family  are  sick,"  replied 
the  man,  "so  I  have  been  able  to  bring  only 
forty-two!  " 

"You  see,"  commented  Mr.  Belasco,  "my 
friend  had  quite  forgotten  he  was  in  Salt  Lake 
City.     The  influential  citizen  was  a  Mormon." 


Charles  Mathews  and  the  Silver  Spoon 
Soon  after  Mathews  went  from  York  to  the 
Haymarket  Theatre,  he  was  invited  with  other 
performers  to  dine  with  Mr.  Atteborough,  after- 
ward an  eminent  silversmith,  but  who  at  that 
period  followed  the  business  of  pawnbroker.  It 
so  happened  that  Atteborough  was  called  out  of 


"wait  anO  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage  n 

the  dining-room,  at  the  back  of  the  shop,  during 
dinner.  Mathews,  with  wonderful  celerity,  al- 
tering his  hair,  countenance,  hat,  etc.,  took  a 
large  gravy-spoon  off  the  dinner-table,  ran  in- 
stantly into  the  street,  entered  one  of  the  little 
dark  doors  leading  to  the  pawnbroker's  counter, 
and  actually  pledged  to  the  unconscious  Atte- 
borough  his  own  gravy-spoon.  Mathews  con- 
trived with  equal  rapidity  to  return  and  seat 
himself  (having  left  the  street  door  open)  before 
Atteborough  reappeared  at  the  dinner-table.  As 
a  matter  of  course,  this  was  made  the  subject  of 
a  wager.  An  explanation  took  place  before  the 
party  broke  up,  to  the  infinite  astonishment  of 
Atteborough. 


Dramatic  Remnants 

Augustus  Thomas  was  said  to  have  prepared  a 
sketch  which  Will  McConnell  used,  and  it  was 
once  suggested  that  it  might  possibly  have  been 
due  to  the  weakness  of  the  vehicle  that  his  at- 
tempt in  vaudeville  failed. 

"I  don't  believe  that,"  he  said,  "for  Gus 
Thomas  put  into  it  all  the  Lambs'  Club  jokes  he 
could  remember.  He's  been  able  to  write  sev- 
eral successful  plays  in  just  that  way  and  he 


18  wait  anD  Ibumoc  ot  tbe  Stage 

ought  lo  have  enough   left  over  for  a  twenty- 
minute  sketch." 


Garrick  and  Sterne 

One  instance  when  a  witty  ecclesiastic  met 
his  match  is  recorded  of  David  Garrick. 

The  Rev.  Laurence  Sterne,  who  was  not  a 
brilliant  example  of  a  loving  husband,  met  him 
one  day  and  said  in  a  sentimental  way,  "The 
husband  who  behaves  unkindly  to  his  wife  de- 
serves to  have  his  house  burnt  over  his  head." 

"If  you  think  so,"  said  Garrick,  doubtless 
glad  to  get  even  with  Sterne  for  once,  "  I  hope 
your  house  is  insured." 


Irving  vs.  Dixey 
An  amusing  thing  occurred  one  night  at  the 
Lambs'  Club  in  New  York.  It  was  the  night 
of  one  of  their  gambols,  and  Irving  was  present. 
It  was  the  custom  of  the  club  to  travesty  the 
popular  actors  of  the  day.  Harry  Dixey,  who 
is  an  inimitable  mimic,  was  brought  in  dressed 
to  represent  Henry  Irving.  He  had  Irving's 
walk,  Irving's  voice,  and  Irving's  mannerisms 
down  to  perfection.  He  came  in  with  a  tin 
bucket,  walked,  as  Irving  walked,  to  an  imitation 
pump,  and  pumped  for  some  time  without  get- 


Mit  an5  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage  19 

ting  any  water.  Then,  looking  iipwiih  the  very 
expression  and  intonation  of  Irving,  he  said  : 
"  Ha  !  Ha  !  We  never  miss  the  water  till  the 
well  runs  dry." 

The  thing  was  so  ridiculous  and  so  like  Irving 
that  the  guests  immediately  went  into  convul- 
sions. Irving  sat  there  with  his  elbow  on  the 
table  and  his  hand  under  his  chin,  watching 
Dixey  with  a  curious  grin  on  his  face. 

General  Horace  Porter  sat  next  to  Irving,  and 
nudged  him,  saying : 

"Irving,  what  do  you  think  of  it?  Do  you 
like  it  ?  " 

Without  changing  his  pose  or  his  expression, 
Irving  replied  :  "  Ha  !  Ha  !  I  say  I  do,  but  I 
don't." 


Brady's  Foibles 

William  A.  Brady  made  his  mark  chiefly  as  a 
producer  of  popular  melodrama,  but  he  has  am- 
bitions to  do  everything  he  does  well,  and  an 
Irish  honesty  and  frankness  which  endear  him 
to  those  who  are  associated  with  him. 

He  has,  however,  rigid  ideas  as  to  how  Shake- 
speare should  be  produced.  In  the  final  re- 
hearsal of  Robert  Mantell's  Macbeth  one  of  the 
lines  in  the  second  act  offended  his  ear  : 


20         Timit  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars  to  the  general  use." 

He  rose  up  in  the  empty  auditorium  and 
shouted  : 

"  Cut  out  that  line  !  This  is  an  English  play, 
and  a  classic.  I  won't  have  any  modern  Ameri- 
can nonsense  written  into  it !  " 

Mr.  Mantell  explained  that  "dollar"  is  a 
good  old  word,  and  that  "half  a  dollar"  is  still 
popularly  used  in  England  to  mean  a  half- 
crown. 

When  Mr.  Brady  is  in  the  wrong  he  makes  no 
bones  of  owning  up.  While  rehearsing  Clyde 
Fitch's  Lovers^  Lane,  he  had  grave  doubts  as  to 
many  of  the  lines  and  much  of  the  comic 
"  business  "  which  seemed  to  him  too  subtle  and 
minute  to  "  get  over  the  footlights,"  as  theatrical 
people  express  it.  He  pleaded  to  have  them  cut 
out,  so  as  to  get  more  snap  and  ginger  into  the 
action.  Mr.  Fitch  is  a  past  master  of  minor 
theatric  effect,  and  knew  very  well  that  nothing 
delights  an  audience  more  than  to  catch  the 
meaning  of  humorous  subtleties.  It  gives  them 
a  pleasurable  mental  exercise  and  perhaps  flat- 
ters their  vanity  as  critics.  He  stipulated  that 
his  efforts  should  at  least  be  given  a  trial  with 
the  public.  The  first  performance  was  in  Tren- 
ton, and  after  it  Mr.  Brady  telegraphed  his 
author  :    "  You  are  all  to  the  good.     Every  one 


"Wait  auD  Ibumot  of  tbe  Stafle  21 

of  the  Fitchisms   went  like ."     But  the 

telegraph  operator  refused  to  repeat  to  the  wires 
just  what  it  was  that  they  went  like. 

One  of  Mr.  Brady's  sayings  has  become  a 
theatrical  byword.  An  experienced  actor  knows 
very  well  that,  when  he  has  nothing  to  do  or 
the  stage,  the  best  thing  for  him  is  to  do  noth 
ing ;  but  crude  actors  think  it  necessary  tc 
invent  "business"  to  fill  in,  A  young  woman 
in  a  company  which  Mr.  Brady  was  rehearsing 
carried  her  inventions  to  the  point  of  distracting 
attention  from  the  principals  in  the  scene.  After 
mildly  discouraging  her  to  no  purpose,  Mr. 
Brady  lost  patience,  rose  up  and  shouted  : 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  to  keep  still?  You're 
no  diamond  that  has  to  sparkle  all  the 
time  !  " 

Many  a  fidgeting  actor  has  since  profiled  by 
the  remark. 


"  Mephisto  "  in  the  Flesh 

"  A  great  many  years  ago  I  was  playing  Me- 
phisto in  the  South,"  says  Lewis  Morrison, 
"  and  while  in  New  Orleans  had  quite  a  re- 
markable experience. 

"  I  came  home  from  the  theatre  one  night 
tired  and  hot,  and  rang  the  bell   for  the  boy. 


22         imit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

He  came  shuffling  along  the  hall  and  stopped 
at  my  door — which  was  partly  ajar — and  peeked 
through  the  aperture.  I  called  him,  gave  him 
an  order,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  returned 
with  a  glass  of  water  held  on  a  tray  far  in  front  of 
him.  He  placed  it  on  the  table  very  gingerly, 
and  made  his  exit  in  such  a  manner  that  it  at- 
tracted my  attention.  He  was  way  down  the 
hall  before  I  thought  to  call  him  back. 

"  '  Sambo,  come  here,'  I  yelled.  He  came 
trembling  foolishly  and  rolling  his  big  eyes. 

"  He  moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue  and 
began  :  '  Sure,  boss,  I  ain't  done  nuthin'  ; 
please  don't  hurt  me  !  ' 

"  Then  I  knew  he  had  seen  me  as  Mephisto 
that  night,  and  was  still  impressed  with  the 
play." 


Lackaye's  Little  Joke 

Wilton  Lackaye,  the  hero  of  The  Pit,  is  a 
very  well-dressed  man,  notwithstanding  he  plays 
the  role  of  a  rich  Chicago  broker. 

His  sartorial  correctness  attracted  the  envying 
notice  of  a  youth  in  Philadelphia,  and  the  beau 
from  the  Quaker  City  wrote  the  following  letter 
to  the  well-groomed  star  : 


Wiit  aiiD  Ibiimor  ot  tbe  Stage         23 

"  Dear  Mr.  Lackaye  : 

"  Will  you  please  lay  me  under  a  deeper 
load  of  gratitude  than  is  imposed  even  by  your 
splendid  acting  last  night  and  inform  me  of  a 
way  I  can  keep  my  trousers  from  bagging?  1 
notice  that  every  lime  you  came  on  the  stage 
last  night  your  pants  were  perfect. 

"  Yours  with  thanks, 

"James  Blank." 


To  this  effusion  the  writer  in  due  course  re- 
ceived the  laconic  reply  : 

"  Dear  Sir  : 

"  To  keep  pants  perfect  never  take  them 
from  the  tailor's. 

"Yours, 

"  Wilton  Lackaye." 


^  The  Cradle  of  Liberty 

Augustus  Thomas,  the  playwright,  is  a  noted 
political  and  after-dinner  speaker.  He  is  a 
member  of  the  Lambs'  Club,  in  New  York, 
where  he  is  the  recognized  orator. 

A  short  time  ago  there  was  a  movement  on  in 
the  Lambs'  Club  that  was  disapproved  by  Mr. 
Thomas.  He  organized  a  crusade  against  it. 
It  was  his  plan  to  have  a  dinner  and   discuss 


24         imu  auD  Ibumoc  of  tbe  Stafle 

the  matter.  He  had  arranged  that  all  the 
speakers  for  the  movement  should  be  "  horsed," 
as  they  were  talking,  by  a  set  of  bril- 
liant fellows-which  he,  himself,  organized, 
and  that  he  should  wind  up  with  his 
speech  amid  great  applause,  the  whole  affair 
being  more  for  amusement  than  anything 
else. 

The  dinner  was  held,  and  the  men  who  had 
been  stationed  around  the  table  to  interrupt  and 
otherwise  badger  the  preliminary  speakers  were 
soon  in  fine  working  order.  They  kept  the 
table  in  roars. 

Finally,  it  came  Thomas's  turn  to  declaim. 
He  started,  but  to  his  intense  disgust  found  that 
the  hazers  were  so  elated  by  their  success  that 
they  kept  on  with  him. 

Thomas  made  a  reference  to  Faneuil  Hall. 
"  What's  Faneuil  Hall?  "  asked  a  man  at  the 
end  of  the  table. 

•'  Faneuil  Hall,"  said  Mr.  Thomas  slowly, 
"  is  a  hall  in  Boston  which  was  the  meeting- 
place  of  the  patriots  before  and  during  the 
Revolution.  It  is  commonly  called  the  '  Cradle 
of  Liberty  ' — that  liberty  which  we  all  enjoy  and 
which  you  now  abuse." 

Whereupon  Mr.  Thomas  made  his  speech  as 
previously  arranged. 


"wait  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stafle         26 

The  Curse  of  the  Links 

The  following  story  is  related  by  Richard 
Golden,  otherwise  known  as  The  Bad  Samar- 
itan : 

It  is  your  little  sins  that  find  you  out  and 
play  havoc  with  your  domestic  happiness,  and  I 
owe  much  peace  of  mind  to  my  inordinate  pas- 
sion for  learning  to  play  golf  down  at  Port 
Washington,  Long  Island. 

My  wife  did  not  share  my  idea  of  the  sport, 
or,  rather,  she  did  not  approve  of  my  profane 
utterances  while  getting  next  to  anythnig  new  ; 
but  finally  she  accepted  the  inevitable,  and 
agreed  that  I  must  learn  to  play  golf,  but  in- 
sisted upon  choosing  my  teacher.  She  chose  a 
minister,  who  was  supposed  to  have  a  knowledge 
long  on  golf  and  short  on  toleration  of  verbiage. 

I  tried  him  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  and  my 
wife  advised  me  to  get  a  new  teacher,  as  she 
saw  no  improvement  in  my  manners.  I  tried 
teacher  after  teacher,  until  she  hit  upon  a 
plan. 

"  As  it  is,"  she  said,  "  I  never  can  tell  unless 
I  am  with  you  whether  you  are  improving  or 
backsliding.  Now,  I  am  going  to  give  you  some 
pebbles  to  carry,  and  whenever  you  swear  you 
are  to  drop  a  pebble  in  your  pocket,  then  when 
you  come  home  I  shall  rate  your  progress." 


26         Timtt  an£>  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

As  this  did  not  seem  to  be  a  bad  scheme  I 
consented  to  it,  and  my  wife  met  me  at  the  gate 
upon  my  return  with  "  Richard,  let  me  see  the 
size  of  your  pile." 

I  took  a  solitary  pebble  from  each  pocket, 
and  said  :     "  This  represents  the  D's." 

She  gave  me  a  swift,  admiring  glance,  and 
said  unbelievingly  :     "Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  All  ?  "  I  echoed.  "  All  ?  Look  down  the 
road,  and  you  will  see  two  teams  hauling  my 
gravel  markers  home." 

She  gave  me  up  as  a  hopeless  case  after  that. 


Robert  Edeson's  Gardener 

You  can  never  tell  when  you  are  doing  a  man 
a  kindness.  At  ray  home  in  Sag  Harbor,  Long 
Island,  three  summers  ago,  I  had  a  man  employed 
to  do  odd  jobs  about  the  place,  named  Patrick 
Lannigan.  Despite  his  bad  habit,  drink,  he 
was  a  find  in  the  way  of  a  servant ;  but  later  I 
was  compelled  to  dispense  with  his  services, 
owing  to  his  fondness  for  the  black  bottle. 

Because  of  his  pleasant  wit  and  good  work,  I 
had  become  much  attached  to  him,  and  Pat 
knew  it ;  for  after  his  discharge  he  made  many 
calls  on  me  for  help. 


TKIlit  anO  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage  27 

At  last  one  day,  when  I  had  become  tired  of 
his  begging,  I  said  to  him  :  "  Look  here,  Pat. 
How  much  would  it  cost  to  get  you  good  and 
drunk  ?  " 

He  thought  for  a  while,  and  replied : 
"  Well,  sir,  it  would  cost  about  fifty  cents  on 
beer." 

"Well,  then,"  I  said,  "here  is  the 
fifty.  Go  and  get  drunk ;  so  very  drunk 
tliat  you  will  get  into  trouble  and  the  work- 
house." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  winter.  Pat 
considered  my  proposition  at  length  and  ac- 
cepted. The  next  day  I  read  in  a  New  York 
paper  that  Patrick  Lannigan  had  broken  a  plate- 
glass  window  and  had  been  sent  to  Blackwell's 
Island  for  five  months. 

This,  I  thought,  would  end  Pat's  insistent 
friendship  for  myself;  but  I  was  mistaken. 
Only  a  little  more  than  a  month  had  elapsed, 
when  Pat  paid  me  a  call  at  the  theatre. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  I  asked  in 
surprise.  "  I  thought  you  had  been  sentenced 
to  the  workhouse  for  five  months." 

"  I  wuz,  yer  honor,"  he  replied  with  a  sigh  ; 
"  but  that  Dugan  chap,  the  superintendent,  is 
no  friend  of  moine.  Will  ye  belave  it,  sir,  he 
discharged  me  for  good  conduct  ?  " 


28         Mlt  anD  "toumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

An  Old  Saw 

Augustus  Thomas,  the  playwright,  told  in  a 
recent  speech  of  a  hunting  trip  he  had  taken  in 
the  South.  They  were  after  'coons  and  'pos- 
sums, but  the  only  trail  the  dogs  struck  was  one 
which  made  them  put  their  tails  between  their 
legs  and  turn  for  home. 

"Just  what  does  a  polecat  look  like?"  Mr. 
Thomas  asked  one  of  his  negro  guides. 

"  A  polecat,  boss  ?  Why,  a  polecat's  some- 
fin'  like  a  kitten,  only  prettier.  Yes,  a  jiolecat's 
a  heap  prettier'n  a  kitten,  ain't  it,  Sam?"  he 
said,  turning  to  another  negro  for  corroboration. 

"  Well,"  he  replied,  scratching  his  wool, 
"  it's  always  been  mah  contention  dat  handsome 
is  as  handsome  does." 


No  Reduction  For  Him 
They  were  swapping  stories  one  night  at  the 
Friars'  Club  when  Jefferson  De  Angelis  told  of 
two  players,  one  of  whom  is  growing  bald,  pass- 
ing a  barber  shop,  in  the  window  of  which  was 
displayed  a  sign  reading  : 

FIRST  CLASS  HAIR  CUT,    20  CENTS 

"That's  the  place  for  me,"  said  the  actor, 
whose    locks   were   diminishing.     "I   have   so 


wait  anD  Ibuinoc  ot  tbe  Staflc         29 

little    hair    left    they   couldn't   conscientiously 
charge  me  more  than  ten  cents." 

"  You  misinterpret  the  sign,"  rejoined  the 
second  Thespian.  "  If  you  possessed  but  three 
spears  yours  would  still  be  considered  first-class 
hair,  which,  you  will  observe,  is  the  kind  for 
which  they  demand  twenty  cents." 


Too  Many  Sotherns 

Sothern,  the  actor,  who  created  the  famoua 
Lord  Du7idreary,  was  in  his  private  life  much 
Addicted  to  the  practical  joke,  a  form  of  social 
hazing  now  happily  extinct.  Sothern's  exploits 
were  often  insufferable  for  the  injustice  and 
cruelty  to  his  victims ;  but  his  persistent  esca- 
pades sometimes  brought  upon  him  a  retal- 
iatory persecution  which  he  bore  with  good 
grace. 

On  one  occasion,  at  the  height  of  his  vogue, 
certain  of  his  competitors  became  aware  that  he 
meant  to  call  upon  a  literary  woman,  celebrated 
in  Washington  for  her  strong  mind  and  uncon- 
trollable temper.  It  is  related  that  Solhern  duly 
presented  himself  and  was  met  at  the  door  with 
explosive  epithets  and  abuse. 

"  Another  !  "  exclaimed  the  hostess  in  a  fur/. 
«'  Another  !  " 


30         "Wflit  auD  tbumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

<«  Madam,  I  am  Sothern,  the  actor,  who 

But  she  interrupted  him  angrily. 
"Another!"    she    shouted    frantically — ar 
slammed  the  door  in  his  face. 

There  was  no  doubting  her  sincerity — si 
was  in  deadly  earnest — and  Sothern  was  bew 
dered  and  crestfallen.  But  something  wh, 
pered  that  he  was  the  victim  of  a  plot,  wheth 
the  inhospitable  hostess  were  a  party  to  it 
not.  He  promptly  sought  the  persons  whc 
he  suspected — three  of  his  brother- actors.  I 
found  them  very  grave,  mysteriously  so. 

Said  the    first  sympathetically,   after  heari 
Sothern's  complaint : 

"I   cannot    understand    it    at    all.     When 
called  this  morning,  and  represented  myself 
Sothern,  she  was  most  cordial,  and    listened 
my  praises  of  her  writing  with  delight." 
A  second  added  in  surprise  : 
"  It  seems  very  strange  to  me,  also.     I  cal' 
on  the  lady  with  Sothern's  card  and  she  ra< 
tioned  the  preceding  Sothern,  but  I  praised  . 
writing  so  much  more  aptly  that  she  beca 
convinced  that  you  were  an  impostor.     Her  la 
temper  is  hard  to  understand." 

And  the  third  innocently  remarked  : 
"  And  she  was  amiable  to  me  when  I  cal 
and  said  that  I  was  Sothern.     She  suggest 


HUit  an&  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage         3i 

rhat  the  other  two  were  probably  impudent  ras- 
cals trying  to  impose  upon  her.  Did  she  really 
slam  the  door?" 

Sothern  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

"I  was  the  fourth  Sothern,"  he  muttered. 
"She  probably  suspected  that  somebody  had 
packed  the  jury." 


Too  Much  for  "  The  Professor  " 
On  one  occasion  E.  S.  Willard  was  appearing 
in  a  matinee  performance  of  The  Professor's 
Love  Story  at  the  Broad  Street  Theatre,  Phila- 
delphia, when  fire  broke  out  somewhere  about 
the  building.  Having  ascertained  the  exact  and 
harmless  nature  of  the  trouble,  Mr.  Willard  ad- 
vanced toward  the  footlights. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "pray  be 
perfectly  confident.  There  is  no  danger  what- 
ever. Something  merely  went  wrong  with  the 
electric  arrangements  and  it  has  all  been  adjusted 
by  now." 

But  there  was  still  some  nervousness  among 
the  spectators,  and  one  of  them — a  man — called 
out: 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Willard,  if  you  would  explain 
the  exact  nature  of  the  trouble,  the  ladies  would 
be  better  satisfied.     You,  as  a  professor,  would 


32         "watt  a  no  Ibumor  ot  tbc  Stage 

of  course   be   able   to   make   everything    clear 
to  us," 

"  Quite  so,"  responded  Mr.  Willard,  color- 
ing through  his  makeup,  "but — er — you  see 
my  knowledge  does  not "  Then,  as  laugh- 
ter broke  out  all  over  the  house,  he  hastily 
added  :  "  1  think  now  we  will  be  quite  justified 
in  going  on  with  our  play." 


Hammered  His  Way  In 

"Really,  my  very  first  chance  to  get  on  the 
stage  came  to  me  because  I  happened  to  be  use- 
ful on  a  baseball  nine,"  says  Dustin  Farnum. 

"It  was  this  way.  You  see  my  father  did 
not  think  the  city  a  good  place  to  bring  up  boys, 
so,  when  we  were  little  fellows,  we  moved  from 
Boston  to  Maine,  and  brother  Will  and  1  were 
sent  to  school  in  Bucksport.  One  summer  vaca- 
tion there,  while  we  were  in  our  teens,  Thomas 
E.  Shea,  who  has  since  become  quite  a  figure  in 
theatricals,  brought  a  sort  of  fly-by-night  com- 
pany to  play  the  town. 

"  Shea  had  a  peculiar  scheme  to  advertise  his 
attraction.  He  would  agree  to  play  the  local 
ball  nine  with  a  nine  formed  of  his  company  for 
seats  to  the  show.  Well,  Will  and  I  were  on 
the  Bucksport  team  that  whipped  the  Shea  nine. 


TKHit  anD  t3umor  of  tbc  Stage         33 

Shea  became  pretty  well  acquainted  with  us  in 
the  course  of  the  game  and  offered  to  take  us  in 
the  company  to  his  next  stand  in  order  to 
strengthen    his    players   on    the   diamond   end 

of  it. 

"  Of  course  Will  and  I  were  ripe  for  sport  like 
this  and  we  went  with  the  troupe  to  Wintei  port, 
where  they  were  billed  to  give  The  Black  Hand 
after  the  usual  baseball  game.  We  played  with 
them  on  the  field  in  the  afternoon,  helped  them 
whip  the  Winterporters,  and  in  the  evening 
stepped  forth  for  the  first  time  on  any  stage  in 
the  dive  scene  which  we  enlivened  with  a  song 
and  dance.  The  next  morning,  we  went  back 
to  Bucksport  and  I  had  no  dealings  with  the 
plain  side  of  the  curtain  again  until  after  Will 
got  a  position  with  the  late  Margaret  Mather. 
Then  she  took  me  on  in  one  of  her  Shakespeare 
productions — Coriolanus,  I  think  it  was — be- 
cause I  would  look  big  in  a  small  part — that  of 
a  warrior. 

'?  And,  by -the  way,  there's  a  funny  sequel  to 
that  size  business.  Later  on,  after  Blanche 
Walsh's  play  Marcelle  failed  at  the  start  of  a 
season  and  left  me  without  a  job,  I  went  to  the 
late  Mr.  La  Shelle  and  asked  him  if  he  could 
give  me  Lieutenant  Denton  in  Arizona. 

"  '  You're  too  big  for  the  part,'  he  told  me, 


34         THIllt  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

and    assigned    me    to   Captain    Hodgman,   the 
villain. 

"After  I  got  through  with  that  I  went  with 
Chauncey  Olcott  for  a  while.  Then  somebody 
told  me  that  a  writer  in  a  Salt  Lake  paper  had 
suggested  that  if  The  Virginian  were  dramatized, 
Dustin  Farnum  was  just  the  man  to  play  the 
part.  I  had  never  read  the  book,  but  you  can 
easily  believe  I  lost  no  time  in  getting  it  after 
that." 


Happy  Ignorance 

Francis  Wilson,  the  comedian,  apropos  of  cer- 
tain curios  whereon  he  believed  he  had  been 
swindled,  said  with  a  light  laugh : 

"The  one  drawback  to  knowledge  is  that  it 
reveals  so  many  dupes  and  swindles  to  us.  One 
summer,  for  instance,  I  was  '  doing '  Switzer- 
land. In  the  neighborhood  of  Geneva,  where 
the  Swiss  talk  French,  I  climbed  a  little  peak 
one  fine  morning,  and  on  my  arrival  at  the 
chalet  at  the  top  I  heard  the  pretty  hand- 
maiden call  into  the  kitchen  in  excellent 
French  : 

"  'Quick,  mother,  quick  !  Here's  a  tourist. 
Put  some  milk  on  the  fire.  You  know  they  al- 
ways like  it  warm  from  the  cow. '  ' ' 


limit  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Sta^e         35 

A  Press  Agent's  Revenge 

Alf  Hayman  is  Charles  Frohman's  general 
representative.  In  former  days  he  used  to  be 
press  man  for  the  mighty  manager's  many  at- 
tractions, and  he  was  fond  of  having  his  joke 
with  the  men  who  dabbled  in  printer's  ink  within 
the  glare  of  the  footlights. 

One  of  these  jokes  took  the  form  of  a  picture 
that  used  to  hang  in  his  office.  It  showed  the 
interior  of  a  theatre,  with  the  audience  assem- 
bled, and  a  row  of  aisle  seats  in  the  foreground. 
These  seats  were  occupied  by  men  who  were 
easily  recognized  as  tlie  dramatic  critics  of  the 
day,  and  the  point  of  the  joke  lay  in  the  line  in- 
scribed underneath  the  picture  as  its  title,  which 
also  was  the  name  of  a  play  by  Henry  Arthur 
Jones  that  had  recently  been  a  success  with  John 
Drew  at  the  Empire  Theatre.  The  title  was  very 
short,  consisting  of  two  words  only,  The  Liars. 


Maid  Marion 

John  Kendrick  Bangs  tells  this  story  on  him- 
self. His  friend,  Mr.  Marion  Verdery,  who  is 
president  of  the  Sothern  Society  of  New  York, 
had  asked  him  to  speak  at  the  annual  dinner  of 
the  society,  and  Mr.  Bangs  had  accepted.  But 
on  the  evening  of  the  dinner  he  was  too  ill  to  go 


36         THflit  anJ)  ibumor  ot  tbc  Stage 

out,  so  he  telegraphed  his  apologies  to  Mr.  Ver- 
dery  at  Delmonico's.  Late  that  night  Mr. 
Bangs'  telephone  rang.  Mrs.  Bangs  went  to  the 
receiver  and  was  told  that  a  telegram  had  just 
been  received  for  her  husband.  She  asked  to 
have  it  read  off,  but  the  girl  at  the  other  end  re- 
fused, saying  that  the  message  was  to  be  deliv- 
ered to  Mr.  Bangs  personally,  and,  though  told 
of  Mr.  Bangs'  illness,  stuck  to  her  decision.  So 
the  invalid  put  on  a  wrapper  and  struggled  down 
to  the  receiver. 

"  In  answer  to  your  telegram  to  Delmonico's," 
said  the  astute  hello-girl,  "  the  clerk  telegraphs 
back  that  there  is  no  lady  of  that  name  in  the 
house." 


Belasco's  Baited  Baby 

In  his  early  years,  when  David  Belasco  was 
stage-manager  and  playright  of  a  theatre  in  San 
Francisco,  he  was  as  eager  for  realism  in  his 
effects  as  he  is  to-day.  He  was  explaining  one 
night  to  some  friends  how  he  once  managed  the 
"baby  act." 

A  child  in  arms  was  needed  for  a  play,  and 
this  being  obtained,  Belasco  supplied  himself 
with  a  stock  of  peppermint  candy.     Before  it 


Ulltt  anD  tyumor  of  tbe  Stage         37 

was  time  for  the  infant  to  be  carried  on  he  held 
up  a  stick  of  the  sweetmeat  before  its  eyes,  let  it 
suck  on  it  for  an  instant,  so  as  to  get  the  taste, 
and  then  withdrew  the  dainty. 

His  next  move  was  to  pass  the  candy  to  the 
man  who  had  most  to  do  with  the  child  in  the 
piece.  The  moment  of  entrance  arrived,  the 
baby  was  carried  on,  the  man,  according  to  in- 
structions, held  up  the  stick  of  candy,  and  the 
infant,  its  lips  smeared  with  the  stuff,  instantly 
stretched  out  its  arms  for  more. 

"What  a  clever  baby!"  the  women  in  the 
audience  would  whisper  to  one  another.  "  It 
actually  knows  candy  by  sight." 

And  a  round  of  applause  was  the  stage-mana- 
ger's reward  for  his  trick. 

It  was  during  this  same  California  period  that 
one  of  the  players  in  the  company  handed 
Belasco,  as  he  supposed,  a  "hot  one,"  to  use 
the  vernacular  of  the  Rialto.  During  rehearsals 
of  a  new  piece  this  actor  had  to  speak  a  line 
containing  Biblical  phraseology.  He  had  trou- 
ble with  it,  and  began  to  kick  at  the 
author. 

"Who  wrote  this  thing,  anyhow?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"  Why,  David,  of  course,"  he  was  told. 
"  Don't  you  know " 


38         TlXUlt  an&  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

"That  explains,   then,"  he   burst  out. 
always  said  Dave  Belasco  was  a  punk  author. 


Cure  for  Nervous  Depression 

The  late  Dr.  Cyrus  Edson  of  New  York  one 
day  received  a  visitor  who  complained  of  nerv- 
ous depression. 

"  You  should  relax  from  work,"  advised  the 
physician.  "  Go  to  the  theatre  and  witness  the 
performance  of  some  good  comedian." 

The  patient  was  much  interested  and  a  little 
surprised.  "Who  is  a  good  comedian?"  he 
asked. 

"Francis  Wilson." 

"I   have   seen   him.     He   would    make   me 


worse." 


"Peter  Dailey." 

"  Dailey  would  induce  grave  complications.  I 
am  sure  of  it.  I  know  a  man  who  contracted 
chronic  dyspepsia  watching  Dailey  on  the 
stage." 

"  You  are  hard  to  please,"  observed  the  doc- 
tor, thinking  intensely.  "I  have  it !  See  Nat 
Goodwin." 

The  sufferer  was  disconsolate.  "I  am  Nat 
Goodwin,"  he  said. 


nait  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage         39 

Cheap  Fuel 
"  It  is  a  tremendous  undertaking  to  get  anew 
play  accepted  and  produced,"  said  Clyde  Fitch 
to  a  friend.  "So  many  are  written  and  so  few 
ever  see  the  light  of  day.  An  English  play- 
wright with  a  gift  of  humorous  exaggeration  il- 
lustrated this  fact  once.  He  told  me  he  sub- 
mitted a  play  to  a  celebrated  actor,  and  how  in 
the  course  of  the  conversation  the  actor  re- 
marked : 

"  '  Don't  you  think  this  room  is  rather  cold  ?  * 
"  '  It  is  rather  cold,'  the  young  playwright  ad- 
mitted. 

"  Then  the  actor  rang  and  a  servant  appeared, 
"'James,'  he  said,   'put  three  more  manu- 
scripts on  the  fire.'  " 


A  Dramatic  Rose 

To  any  one  who  has  seen  Clyde  Fitch  con- 
ducting rehearsals  it  is  evident  that  he  spares  no 
effort  to  attain  the  precise  effect  he  has  in  mind. 
He  himself  says  that  he  finds  rehearsals  a  greater 
tax  on  his  strength  than  the  original  writing  of 
the  piece.  What  he  has  in  mind  he  can  put  on 
paper ;  but  it  is  not  so  easy  to  make  the  com- 
mon run  of  stage  people  embody  it. 

Now  and  then,  however,  he  finds  an  actor 


40         "mit  aiiD  Ibumor  ot  tbc  Stage 

who  understands  instinctively  what  he  is  aiming 
at,  and  who  brings  him  as  much  as  he  gives. 
After  the  production  of  T/ie  Girl  Who  Has 
Everything,  he  was  full  of  praise  for  Miss  El- 
eanor Robson. 

"She  is  like  a  rose,"  he  said.  "You  have 
only  to  hold  it  in  the  warmth  of  your  hands,  and 
it  opens  out  to  perfection  !  " 


When  Gallinger  Met  Thompson 

During  one  summer,  Senator  and  Mrs.  Gal- 
linger visited  Keene,  N.  H.,  and  learning  that 
Denman  Thompson  was  at  his  home  in  Swan- 
zey,  and  being  a  great  admirer  of  Mr.  Thomp- 
son and  his  play,  the  Senator  expressed  a  wish 
to  meet  him  off  the  stage  and  to  see  his  fine 
home.  An  old  friend  of  Mr.  Thompson's  offered 
to  drive  them  down.  Therefore,  one  fine  morn- 
ing they  drove  down  to  Mr.  Thompson's  house. 
He  came  out,  without  coat  or  hat,  hands  behind 
his  back  as  usual.  The  following  conversation 
ensued  : 

Denman:      "  How  d'  do,  Bill?" 

Bill :  "  How  are  you.  Den  ?  Mr.  Thomp- 
son, I  want  to  introduce  Senator  and  Mrs.  Gal- 
linger." 

Senator  Gallinger  :      "  Mr.  Thompson,  I  have 


mtt  anD  Ibumor  of  tbc  Staac         4i 

witnessed  your  great  production  The  Old  Home- 
stead many  times,  and  always  with  the  greatest 
pleasure,  but  I  want  to  say  it  is  with  still  greater 
pleasure  that  I  am  permitted  to  greet  you  in 
your  own  beautiful  home  in  old  Swanzey." 
Denman  :     "  Yes,  it's  cheaper." 


A  Weary  While 

George  Bernard  Shaw,  the  famous  playwright, 
is  also  a  great  lover  of  music.  In  fact,  before 
his  plays  became  successful  he  made  his  living 
as  a  musical  critic.  He  was  invited  by  a  friend 
one  night  to  hear  a  string  quartet  from  Italy. 
Expecting  a  treat,  he  accepted  the  invitation. 
Throughout  the  program,  however,  he  sat  wiih 
a  stony  look  on  his  face.  The  friend,  to  draw 
a  little  praise  from  him,  said:  "Mr.  Shaw, 
those  men  have  been  playing  together  for  twelve 
years." 

"Twelve  years?"  exploded  Shaw,  in  an  in- 
credulous voice.  "  Surely  we've  been  here 
longer  than  that  !  " 


Killing  Caesar  With  a  Revolver 
Henry  Irving  was  an  artist  in  the  true  sense. 
He  had  a  painful  sense  of  fitness  in  all  his  pro- 
ductions.    He  was  sometimes  ridiculed  for  his 


42         "Wlllt  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbc  Stage 

exactions  that  the  minutest  details  of  his  plays 
should  be  made  to  conform  to  the  general 
design.  But  the  fame  he  achieved  was  due  to 
his  contending  for  these  things.  When  incon- 
gruities appeared  in  his  plays  they  literally 
tortured  him.  At  the  same  time  he  enjoyed 
immensely  what  he  called  "  American  anach- 
ronisms. ' ' 

A  friend  was  once  telling  him  of  a  benefit 
which  he  attended  in  Washington  given  to 
Edwin  Adams  shortly  before  his  death.  It  was 
in  the  hot  summer  time,  when  little  care  was 
taken  in  selecting  the  support.  The  pall-bear- 
ers who  bore  the  king's  dead  body  in  the  play 
chewed  tobacco  on  the  stage  and  expectorated 
on  their  own  shoes,  so  as  not  to  attract  the  at- 
tention of  the  audience.  That  amused  Irving 
greatly,  as  did  also  the  story  of  the  Texan  play, 
where  the  conspirators  who  killed  Julius  Caesar 
used  a  five-barrel  revolver. 


S.  R.  O. 
No  one  ever  understood  the  foibles  of  stage 
people  better  than  did  the  late  Kirke  La  Shelle, 
and  of  the  ruling  passion  of  actors  he  used  to 
tell  this  story.  No  need  to  mention  the  actor's 
name,  but  he  is  a  star  of  considerable  reputa- 


•wait  anJ)  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage         43 

tion.  Mr.  La  Shelle  met  him  on  the  Rialto  one 
day  and  noticed  that  he  was  wearing  a  mourn- 
ing badge  on  his  arm. 

<' It's  for  my  father,"  the  actor  explained. 
"  I've  just  come  back  from  his  funeral.  It  was 
a  sad  affair." 

Mr.  La  Shelle  expressed  his  sincerest  sym- 
pathy. The  actor's  grief  was  obviously  real  and 
great. 

"  A  thing  like  this  a  man  doesn't  get  over 
soon,"  he  went  on.  "  I  attended  to  all  the 
funeral  arrangements.  I  did  the  best  I  could. 
We  had  everything  just  as  father  would  have 
liked  it." 

"  Many  there  ?  "  asked  Mr.  La  Shelle. 

"Many  there!"  cried  the  actor,  changing 
from  grief  to  animation.  "  Why,  my  boy,  we 
turned  'em  away." 


Scalping  the  Critics 
Mr.  William  A.  Brady's  nightly  curtain 
speeches  breathing  vengeance  upon  the  critics 
who  had  made  fun  of  his  poetic-romantic 
drama,  The  Redskin,  were  for  the  most  part 
received  as  what  Johnson  called  a  contribution 
to  the  gayety  of  nations  ;  but  there  was  one 
occasion  when  the  critics  had  a  moment  of 
trepidation.     "  If  I  had   the  nerve,"  he  is  re- 


44         "mix  an£)  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stase 

ported  as  saying,  "  I'd  send  that  band  of  Indians 
down  into  Newspaper  Row  to  do  a  little  real 
damage  among  the  funny  newspaper  men." 

Well,  there  had  been  a  first  night  in  a  neigh- 
boring theatre  and  after  the  performance  a  party 
of  them  gathered  on  the  subway  platform  in 
Times  Square,  awaiting  the  train  to  take  them 
down  to  Newspaper  Row.  Suddenly,  with  a 
rustle  of  wampum,  a  swish  of  feathers,  and  oc- 
casional grunts  and  guttural  exclamations,  Mr. 
Brady's  band  of  real  Sioux  trooped  into  the 
station.  It  was  a  spectacle  of  truly  barbaric 
awe.  The  Indians  swung  up  to  where  the  pale- 
faced  critics  were  standing — among  them  the 
very  man  who  had  aroused  the  particular  ire  of 
Mr.  Brady  and  his  company  by  referring  to 
them  as  cigar  store  Indians. 

For  one  brief  moment  there  was  a  rising  of 
hair  on  scalp-locks.  Then  the  train  rumbled 
in,  and  critics  and  redskins  parted  to  board 
separate  cars.  The  Sioux  were  on  their  way 
home  after  the  evening's  performance. 


Mansfield's  Predicament 
Richard  Mansfield,  who  was  not  always  af- 
fluent and  prosperous,  used  to  tell  this  story  on 
himself : 


Timit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage  45 

Years  ago,  when  he  was  a  young  actor  in 
London,  a  continued  run  of  bad  luck  left  him 
with  exactly  one  shilling  in  his  pocket  and  no 
immediate  prospect  of  another.  As  he  walked 
the  streets,  jingling  this  solitary  shilling  and 
pondering  as  to  how  he  could  make  it  last 
longest,  a  jovial  boon  companion  hove  in  sight, 
and,  slap[)ing  him  on  the  back,  invited  him  to 
drop  into  the  nearest  public  house  and  have  a 
glass  of  ale  before  taking  lunch  with  him,  adding 
that  it  would  give  him  a  magnificent  appetite. 

Mansfield  replied  that  he  needed  no  ale  to 
give  him  an  appetite,  but  that  he  would  be 
happy  to  join  him  both  in  ale  and  lunch,  not- 
withstanding, and  walked  on  with  his  friend  in 
the  direction  of  the  public  house,  thanking  his 
lucky  stars  that  he  need  not  break  into  that 
precious  shilling  for  a  while  at  least. 

The  ale  was  excellent,  and  sharpened  Mans- 
field's already  keen  appetite  to  an  appalling 
degree.  Judge,  then,  of  his  feelings  when  his 
friend,  after  rummaging  in  his  pockets  for  a 
minute  or  two,  after  the  drinks  were  partaken 
of,  turned  to  him  and  remarked  carelessly  : 

"  By  Jove,  old  man  !  I  must  have  left  my 
pocketbook  somewhere.  Let  me  have  a  shilling 
to  pay  for  this,  will  you  ?  and  we'll  have  the 
lunch  next. time  we  meet." 


46         HOlit  and  Dumot  of  tbe  Stage 

Mansfield  produced  the  shilling,  and,  he 
adds,  he  walked  out  of  there  '•  with  a  magnifi- 
cent appetite." 

There  is  Only  One  Critic 

Peter  F.  Dailey,  the  comedian,  and  some  of 
his  associates  often  meet  for  social  intercourse 
after  performances.  On  one  occasion  Hall 
Caine,  the  novelist,  was  their  guest.  Mr.  Caine 
had  been  previously  informed  that  he  would 
encounter  a  party  eminently  Bohemian  in  spirit, 
and  was  not  prepared  for  the  learned  discussions 
wherein  he  found  himself  a  deeply  interested,  if 
somewhat  puzzled,  listener  ;  now  and  then  he 
detected  certain  irrelevancies,  he  thought,  but 
the  perpetrator  seemed  so  solemn  that  it  passed 
for  ordinary  comment. 

In  deference  to  Mr.  Caine,  the  talk  drifted  to 
the  broad  subject  of  authors  in  connection  with 
critics,  actors,  and  kindred  subjects ;  which  led 
Mr.  Dailey  to  deliver  the  following  remarkable 
disquisition  : 

*'  It  seems  to  me,  by  the  way,  that  only  one 
man  has  any  right  to  criticise  a  theatrical  per- 
formance. Make  it  two,  by  a  long  stretch. 
The  professional  critic  is  not  one  of  them ; 
neither  is  the  man  who  pays  at  the  door,  be- 
cause he  rarely  knows  what  he  is  talking  about 


•wait  anD  Uumoc  of  tbc  Stage         47 

The  actor  and  the  auttior  alone  are  qualified, — 
but  even  the  author  should  be  omitted.  Con- 
sider what  the  author  has  written, — for  instance, 
the  threadbare  conversation  about  the  chicken 
crossing  the  road.  *  A  chicken,'  wrote  the  au- 
thor, 'crosses  the  road  in  order  to  get  on  the 
other  side.'  What  sort  of  dialogue  is  that  ? 
How  can  a  chicken  reach  the  other  side  of  the 
road  when  the  other  side  of  the  road  is  the  side 
it  has  just  left?  Obviously  the  author  was  stupid. 
A  chicken  crosses  the  road  in  order  to  remain 
on  the  same  side.  No,  the  author  is  out  of  it, — 
only  an  actor  has  any  right  to  criticise  a  show." 

Mr.  Caine,  in  the  midst  of  profound  silence, 
suddenly  laughed  explosively.  They  stared  and 
he  laughed  the  more  ;  they  gazed  at  him  inquir- 
ingly, expressionless  as  marble.  One  by  one, 
as  if  dumfounded,  they  left  the  table. 

Mr.  Dailey  was  the  last  to  go.  Pausing,  he 
looked  back  at  Mr.  Caine,  who  remained  help- 
less at  the  table,  laughing  so  intensely  as  to 
scarcely  utter  a  sound. 

"And  that,"  exclaimed  the  comedian,  loudly, 
and  with  scorn,  "is  an  author  !  " 

Sizing  Up  Bernard  Shaw 
Bernard  Shaw  is  thus  immortalized  by  Charles 
Hawtrey,  the  English  comedian  : 


48         Timit  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

'•  Once  upon  a  time,"  says  Hawtrey,  "  I  had 
a  mad  desire  to  produce  Shaw's  play  of  You 
Never  Can  Tell.  I  wrote  to  Shaw  and  asked 
his  permission.  He  answered  that  he  would 
come  and  read  it  to  me.  He  did,  and  began 
by  saying  that  sometimes  he  thought  it  was  the 
best  play  that  ever  was  written,  and  at  others  he 
considered  it  the  greatest  trash.  Anyhow,  he 
was  of  opinion  that  it  was  a  pretty  poor  play, 
and  that  if  I  produced  it — well,  I  must  take  the 
consequences.  Sometime  afterward  I  asked 
Shaw  if  I  could  compress  the  last  act.  He  de- 
clined to  allow  one  line  to  be  altered  or  cut  out. 
In  view  of  certain  contingencies,  I  had  at  last  to 
tell  him  that  I  couldn't  produce  the  play.  His 
answer  was,  '  Thank  you  so  much  !  You  have 
taken  a  great  load  off  my  mind.'  Now  what 
are  you  to  do  with  a  man  like  that  ?  " 


Circumstances  Alter  Faces 
In  order  to  play  Rosemary  some  years  ago, 
John  Drew  shaved  off  his  mustache,  thereby 
greatly  changing  his  appearance.  Shortly  after- 
ward he  met  Max.  Beerbohm  in  the  lobby  of  a 
London  theatre,  but  could  not  just  then  recall 
who  the  latter  was.  j\Ir.  Beerbohm's  memory 
was  better. 


•wait  and  Ibumor  ot  tbc  Stage         49 

"Oh,  Mr.  Drew,"  he  said,  "I'm  afraid  you 
don't  know  me  without  your  mustache." 


Jogging  His  Memory 

Lew  Dockstader  tells  of  a  friend  of  his  who 
visited  an  insane  asylum  and  came  across  an 
inmate  who  was  walking  in  the  corridor.  His 
friend  engaged  the  inmate  in  conversation  and 
discovered  him  to  be  a  most  intelligent  person, 
posted  on  all  the  topics  of  the  day,  with  rational 
ideas  about  everything  and  no  signs  of  insanity. 

"  You  do  not  seem  insane,"  said  the  visitor. 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  the  inmate.  "I 
am  perfectly  normal.  1  am  here  because  of  a 
plot  against  me  by  some  one.  If  I  could  get 
word  to  my  sisters  and  brothers  I  would  be 
liberated  at  once.  Also,  I  would  like  a  word 
with  my  lawyer." 

To  make  sure,  the  visitor  talked  for  half  an 
hour  with  the  inmate  and,  in  the  end,  was  con- 
vinced a  gross  injustice  was  being  done.  He 
said  :  "  I  will  gladly  take  a  message  to  your 
lawyer  or  your  brother.  I  am  sure  you  are 
sane. ' ' 

"If  you  will,"  replied  the  inmate,   "I  shall 
be    under   lifelong   obligation    to   you.     I    am^ 
incarcerated    here   for   no   reason,  I   am    sure. 
Please  say  to  my  lawyer  that  you  saw  me  here 


50         TKfltt  anD  Ibumot  ot  tbe  Stage 

and  that  I  want  him  to  come  at  once  and  see 
me  so  I  can  take  steps  to  regain  my  liberty." 

There  was  some  more  conversation  and  the 
message  was  arranged  for  and  addresses  given. 
After  other  protestations  of  his  sanity  and  assur- 
ances by  the  visitor  that  the  outrage  would  soon 
be  corrected,  the  visitor  turned  to  go.  As  he 
was  about  to  descend  the  steps  he  was  hoisted 
off  his  feet  by  a  tremendous  kick  and  fell  into  a 
flower-bed.  He  turned  to  see  the  inmate  grin- 
ning at  him  from  the  steps. 

"  Why  did  you  do  that?"  shouted  the  vis- 
itor. 

"  Lest  you  forget,"  said  the  inmate,  shaking 
a  finger  at  him — "  Lest  you  forget." 


Herman  and  the  Cabby 
Dispute  over  a  fare  gave  Henry  Herman,  the 
dramatist,  opportunity  for  playing  a  grim  joke 
at  cabby's  expense.  Herman  was  the  unfor- 
tunate possessor  of  a  glass  eye,  which,  on  John's 
waxing  demonstrative  with  his  whip,  whereof 
the  lash  passed  perilously  near,  he  suddenly 
pulled  out,  and  thrusting  it  in  cabby's  face, 
"You  rascal,"  he  vociferated,  "look  what 
you've  done !  You've  cut  my  eye  out !  " 
Without  waiting  for  the  money  in  dispute,  the 
driver  lashed  his  horse  and  fled  aghast. 


TWllt  anJ)  fjumor  ot  tbe  Stage         5i 

Objected  to  Guineas 
Colonel  Maplcson,  the  famous  impresario  who 
objected  to  the  lavish  use  of  the  name  "  Maple- 
son  "  in  one  of  London's  latest  plays,  tells  of  an 
amusing  story  of  the  first  contract  he  ever  made 
on  behalf  of  his  father,  the  famous  opera-mana 
ger,  who  practically  introduced  all  the  greatest 
artists  of  the  last  fifty  years  to  the  public.  Ma- 
pleson  senior  wanted  to  engage  Mongini,  a 
famous  Italian  tenor,  and  sent  his  son  over  to 
capture  him  if  possible.  Young  Mapleson  was 
empowered  to  offer  sixty  to  seventy  guineas  a 
week,  but  as  soon  as  the  word  "guineas"  was 
mentioned,  Mongini  looked  dissatisfied.  He 
did  not  like  guineas,  he  wanted  to  be  paid  in 
coin  of  the  realm.  "Well,  my  dear  signor," 
said  Colonel  Mapleson,  keeping  a  grave  face, 
"I  do  not  wish  any  trifle  of  money  to  come  be- 
tween us.  Instead  of  seventy  guineas  shall  we 
say  seventy  pounds  sterling?"  Mongini  was 
overjoyed,  kissed  Colonel  Mapleson  on  both 
cheeks,  said  he  was  the  finest  impresario  he  had 
ever  met,  and  at  once  signed  the  contract. 


They  Thought  Well  of  Themselves 
The  reminiscences  of  Mr.  Herman  Vezin,  the 
famous  actor,  who  celebrated  his  eightieth  birth- 
day on  March  2d,  and  his  diamond  jubilee  as 


62         luitt  anD  Ibumoc  ot  tbe  Stage 

an  actor,  includes  a  couple  of  stories  which  show 
that  actors  in  the  old  days  knew  how  to  ap- 
preciate themselves.  The  great  American  trage- 
dian of  Mr.  Vezin's  youth  was  Edwin  Forrest. 
"  He  was  certainly  the  finest  Richelieu  I  ever 
saw,"  says  Mr.  Vezin,  "and  a  magnificent 
King  Lear.  One  day  a  fellow  actor  compli- 
mented him  on  the  way  he  played  Lear.  '  Play 
Lear  !  '  exclaimed  Forrest.  '  I  play  Hamlet, 
Othello,  Macbeth ;  but  by  heavens,  sir,  I  am 
Lear  ! '  Boucicault  had  an  enormous  belief  in 
himself,  too.  Once  he  was  detected  in  the  act 
of  praising  Shakespeare.  'Surely,'  remarked 
Boucicault,  by  way  of  excuse,  '  great  men  may 
admire  each  other.'  " 

The  Kingdom  Saved 

When  Barry  Sullivan,  the  Irish  tragedian,  was 
playing  Richard  III  one  night,  and  the  actor 
came  to  the  lines,  *'A  horse!  a  horse!  My 
kingdom  for  a  horse  I  "  some  merry  wag  in  the 
pit  called  out  : 

"And  wouldn't  a  jackass  do  as  well  for 
you?" 

"Sure!"  answered  Sullivan,  turning  like  a 
flash  at  the  sound  of  the  voice,  "come around 
to  the  stage  door  at  once  !  " 


CHAPTER  II 

Some  Stage  Mishaps 

From  the  days  of  Shakespeare  and  his  Globe 
Theatre  until  the  present,  the  annals  of  the  stage 
abound  in  stories  of  queer  contretemps,  either  on 
the  stage  in  full  view  of  the  audience  or  behind 
the  scenes ;  such  mishaps  as  are  calculated  to 
disturb  that  atmosphere  of  illusion  without  which 
there  can  be  no  successful  performance.  Here 
is  a  galaxy  of  stories,  all  of  them  authentic. 


It  Was  the  Cat 
Richard  Mansfield  often  narrated  an  event 
of  his  early  days  that  illustrates  how  the  most 
effective  scene  may  be  spoiled  by  a  very  small 
thing.  It  happened  that  during  the  performance 
of  a  Shakespearian  play  a  corpse  upon  a  bier 
had  to  be  brought  upon  the  stage.  The  body, 
covered  with  a  pall,  was  represented  by  a  dummy, 
the  feet  of  which  could  be  seen  protruding  from 
the  covering.  The  bearers  had  set  down  the 
bier,  and  the  business  of  the  scene  was  proceed- 
ing as  usual,  when  an  uncanny  portent  was  be- 
held.    The  corpse  was  moving  !     People  in  the 


54         "Ufllt  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

audience  began  to  tiiter ;  but  the  actors,  know- 
ing well  that  underneath  the  pall  was  nothing 
but  a  dummy,  were  awestruck  or,  at  any  rate, 
profoundly  puzzled — according  to  their  respective 
temperaments.  Mr.  Mansfield,  then  speaking 
incontinently,  "dried  up,"  but  his  amazement 
was  changed  to  furious  anger  as,  amid  a  perfect 
yell  of  laughter  from  the  audience,  the  theatre 
cat  crept  from  under  the  pall  and  made  a  digni 
fied  exit. 

Says  Marie  Cahill 

"  I  was  in  stock  once  playing  a  melodramatic 
thing,  and  the  hero  was  declaring  his  popular- 
priced  love  to  me ;  for  1  was  the  leading  lady. 

"  He  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  chair, 
leaning  forward,  breathing  the  violence  of  his 
feelings.  I  preyed  upon  his  every  word,  seek- 
ing for  the  chance  to  grasp  some  gleam  of  intel- 
ligence from  it.  I,  too,  sat  forward  in  the  large 
oak  chair.  I  watched  him  with  the  eyes  of  an 
eagle.  My  hands  held  the  arms  of  the  chair, 
and  in  the  strength  of  my  feelings  my  finger- 
nails almost  pierced  the  tough  old  oak. 

"At  that  moment  I  heard  a  bark,  and  Pete, 
my  Scotch  terrier,  bounced  across  the  stage  in 
pursuit  of  a  cat.  I  slipped  off  the  edge  of  the 
chair,  saving  myself  from  falling  only  by  the 


Timtt  anO  t)umor  of  tbe  btagc         55 

main  strength  of  my  arms.  In  my  agony  I  lis- 
tened for  the  laughter  which  greeted  Pete  to  con- 
tinue at  my  expense ;  but  as  I  stealthily  drew 
myself  back  into  the  chair  and  felt  that  my  pres- 
ence of  mind  had  saved  the  scene,  and  gloried 
in  the  fact  that  no  one  had  seen  the  slip,  tiie 
voice  of  the  inevitable  gallery  god  came  down 
to  me. 

"  '  Good  old  girl  I '  said  the  piping  little  vil- 
lain, and  the  scene  stopped  right  there." 

Why  Warner  is  Superstitious 
Charles  Warner,  the  English  actor,  who  made 
such  a  success  as  Coupeau  in  Drink,  and  w'ho 
has  thrilled  so  many  audiences  on  the  stage,  has 
himself  had  one  thrilling  experience  there,  of 
which  the  audience  was  unconscious.  On  one 
occasion,  at  a  rehearsal  of  H.  J.  Byron's  Guinea 
Gold,  Mr.  Warner  came  into  the  theatre  with  a 
dripping  umbrella  and  proceeded  to  shake  the 
rain  off.  "  For  pity's  sake,  Warner,"  cried 
Byron,  "  don't  open  an  umbrella  on  the  stage; 
it's  the  most  unlucky  thing  in  the  world  ;  we 
shall  have  some  accident,  or  the  play  will  be  a 
failure."     Mr.  Warner  proceeds  : 

"  On  the  night  of  production,  a  most  serious 
accident  very  nearly  occurred.  In  the  third  act, 
Miss  Foote,  the  heroine  of  the  play,  is  decoyed 


66         WLit  anJ)  Ibumoc  ot  tbc  Stage 

into  a  den  near  the  Thames  by  William  Rig- 
nold,  the  villain  of  the  play.  I,  the  hero, 
naturally  am  at  hand  to  rescue  her,  but  the 
villain  locks  us  both  in  and  we  can  find  no 
means  of  egress.  Suddenly  the  high  tides  of 
the  Thames  overflow  the  den,  and,  by  a  me- 
chanical contrivance,  I,  with  Miss  Foote  in  my 
arms,  rise  as  the  waters  flow  over  our  heads. 
Just  at  this  point  the  machinery  of  the  rising 
float  got  fixed,  and  the  immense  body  of  water 
was  absolutely  drowning  us  as  I  held  her.  I 
shouted  :  '  For  God's  sake,  lower  the  curtain  ; 
we  are  drowning  !  ' 

"  However,  the  noise  of  the  water  and  the  ap- 
plause of  the  audience  drowned  the  actor's 
voice.  Miss  Foote  fainted.  In  a  very  short 
time  I  must  have  lost  consciousness,  and  we 
should  both  have  been  drowned  had  not  the 
stage-hands  fortunately  discovered  the  derange- 
ment of  the  machinery  in  time." 


Docked  His  Salary 
Not  every  aspiring  actor  is  able  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  his  chance  when  it  comes,  and  the 
greater  his  power  of  imagination,  it  sometimes 
seems,  the  more  likely  he  is  to  fail.  The  story 
of  CoUey  Gibber's  i/3i//  is  highly  characteristic. 
After  months  of  hope  deferred  Gibber  was  given  a 


TMit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage         57 

line  to  speak  to  the  great  Betterton.  When  he 
came  on  he  was  so  impressed  with  the  trage- 
dian's terrific  aspect  that  he  stood  petrified  by 
fear,  quite  ruining  the  effect  of  the  scene.  Bet- 
terton angrily  ordered  the  manager  to  dock  the 
boy's  salary  twenty  shillings. 

"  But  he  gets  no  salary,"  explained  the  man- 
ager. 

"Then  give  him  two  pounds  a  week," 
stormed  Betterton,  "and  dock  him  one  !  " 

There  may  have  been  method  in  his  madness, 
for  Gibber  became  one  of  the  most  artistic  and 
versatile  actors  of  the  eighteenth  century. 


The  Debut  of  E.  J.  Morgan 

Mr.  E.  J.  Morgan's  deduf  ended  in  a  similar 
catastrophe.  His  first  engagement  was  as  a 
singing  super  in  Shenandoah,  and  he  pestered 
the  manager  almost  daily  to  give  him  an  acting 
part.  Finally,  owing  to  the  absence  of  one  of 
the  cast,  he  was  allowed  to  hold  the  lantern  in 
the  scene  in  which  signal  lights  are  displayed  on 
a  distant  mountain,  and  the  Union  soldiers  read 
them  by  the  aid  of  a  code  book.  As  he  came 
on,  trembling  with  hope  and  fear,  he  stumbled 
and,  in  catching  his  balance,  jerked  out  the 
light.  The  manager  loudly  called  him  off,  but 
he  was  so  frightened  that  he  went  through  with 


58         ■mn  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

his  part,  holding  the  doused  lantern  up  to  the 
code  book,  and,  of  course,  quite  ruining  the 
effect.  The  manager,  lacking  Betterton's  dis- 
cernment, forbade  him  ever  to  ask  for  a  part 
again. 

Shortly  afterward  the  actor  who  had  been 
playing  the  part  of  the  doctor  fell  sick.  Mr. 
Charles  Frohman  ordered  a  substitute  from  New 
York,  and  himself  came  on  to  rehearse  him. 
The  new  actor  did  not  appear.  Mr.  Morgan, 
who  had  understudied  all  possible  parts  in  the 
play,  and  who  was  not  forbidden  to  speak  to 
Mr.  Frohman,  volunteered,  and  was  perforce 
accepted.  This  time  he  showed  his  true  colors, 
getting  a  round  of  applause  which  the  part  had 
never  before  evoked. 


Costly  False  Steps 

A  new  member  of  a  summer  stock  company 
was  rushed  hastily  into  a  new  part.  He  was 
very  young,  and  wanted  to  impress  his  asso- 
ciates with  the  fact  that  he  was  perfectly  at 
home  on  the  stage.  One  of  his  duties  was  to 
escort  the  leading  woman  from  the  scene. 

As  they  walked  off  the  boards  together  the 
lady  dropped  her  handkerchief. 

"Here  is  my  ciiance  to  be  perfectly  cool  in 


"Wnit  an^  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage  59 

any  emergency,"  said  the  young  actor  to  him- 
self, and  he  started  to  pick  up  the  bit  of  lace 
without  check  to  his  talk. 

'•  Let  it  be,"  came  in  a  sharp  whisper  from 
his  partner.  "  It's  part  of  the  business,  you 
idiot  !  " 

And  in  the  very  nick  of  time  he  was  saved 
from  an  act  that  would  have  knocked  the  whole 
plot  to  flinders,  as  the  story,  of  which  he  was 
wholly  ignorant,  turned  on  what  happened  on 
the  finding  of  the  dropped  handkerchief,  which 
had  been  arranged  for  beforehand  as  a  signal. 

This  budding  player,  however,  was  more  for- 
tunate than  a  leading  man  of  more  or  less  prom- 
inence, who,  appearing  with  a  star  in  New  York 
this  past  autumn,  practically  ruined  a  whole 
performance  of  the  play  by  an  inadvertent  act, 
and  may  very  possibly  be  responsible  for  the 
speedy  withdrawal  of  the  piece. 

He  played  the  husband  of  the  leading  woman, 
who  goes  to  a  man's  rooms  where  the  husband  is 
not  supposed  to  see  her.  The  woman  is  let  out 
by  a  servant,  but  on  the  first  night,  as  the  door 
at  the  rear  of  the  scene  was  opened  to  admit  of 
her  passage,  there  stood  the  husband  in  the  hall- 
way, causing  the  two  to  meet  face  to  face. 

It  was  the  merest  accident  that  the  actor 
chanced  to  be  standing  there  at  that  psycholog- 


60         Mit  and  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

ical  moment,  but  it  was  enough  to  ruin  the  effect 
of  all  that  came  afterward. 


A  Stage  Joke 
"  I  once  witnessed  a  scene  between  the  late 
actors,  John  McCuUough  and  WiJl  McConnell, 
which  was  not  inspired  by  the  immortal  Shake- 
speare in  his  tragedy  of  Othello,''  says  Frank 
Perley. 

"McConnell  was  always  full  of  pranks,  and 
nothing  pleased  him  more  than  to  break  up  a 
stirring  scene  occasionally. 

"  At  this  juncture  John  was  about  to  begin  an 
impassioned  speech,  when  Will  stepped  up  to 
him  and  cautiously  dropped  a  raw  egg  into 
Othello's  hand. 

"The  effort  to  get  through  with  that  speech 
without  breaking  the  yolk  of  the  egg  was  almost 
too  much  for  McCullough,  and  McConnell  soon 
made  his  exit.  The  company  took  the  train 
that  night,  and  when  John  entered  the  car  he 
saw  in  the  rear  a  slinking  and  drooping  figure 
which  he  thought  looked  suspiciously  like  the 
joker.  He  started  for  him,  but  Will  suddenly 
decided  that  the  temperature  of  the  next  coach 
was  more  suitable  to  his  needs,  and  McCullough 
kept  him  there  for  the  remainder  of  the  long  trip 
to  California." 


mit  auD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stase         61 

Opening  Blind  Eyes 
An  actress  well  known  on  Broadway  relates 
the  following : 

"  Some  years  ago,  in  Montgomery,  Alabama, 
I  was  with  the  Hazel  Kirke  production  at  the 
same  time  that  C.  W.  Couldock,  the  original 
Dunstan  Kuke,  was  on  the  bill,  and,  inci- 
dentally, the  stage  hoodoo  made  his  appear- 
ance. 

"  We  were  in  the  third  act,  and  the  scene  was 
the  kitchen  of  Blackburn  Mill,  when  my  blind 
father,  Dunstan  Kirke,  welcomes  me  home — as 
1  sob  in  his  arms. 

"  'God's  will  be  done  ! '  he  exclaimed  ;  and 
then  the  electrician  got  into  trouble,  and  the 
lights  went  out,  leaving  us  in  the  dark. 

"Mr.  Couldock  knew  how  to  swear — oh,  he 
did  ! — and  his  voice  soon  lost  its  religious  fervor 
and  resembled  more  a  lion's  roar.  He  ranted 
and  raved,  until  the  audience  could  hear  him  as 
he  moved  his  arms  threateningly  in  the  direction 
of  the  electrician. 

"It  was  still  pitch  dark.  Suddenly  the  lights 
went  up,  and  my  poor  blind  father  had  his  eyes 
wide  open,  rolling  them  with  all  the  frenzy  of  a 
madman.  The  audience  howled,  and  refused 
to  let  us  go  on  until  Mr.  Couldock  was  restored 
to  good  humor  by  their  applause." 


62         mtt  and  Ibumoc  ot  tbe  Stage 

Too  Much  Realism 

"  I  shall  never  forget  my  first  speaking  pari 
upon  the  stage,"  said  Edmund  Breese.  "1 
was  playing  the  villain  in  a  play  called  The  End 
of  the  World. 

"  In  one  scene  I  was  to  rush  upon  the  stage, 
hunted  by  a  frenzied  mob  for  the  murder  I  had 
committed,  and  in  coming  to  this  refuge  I  was 
supposed  to  run  in,  breathing  hard  and  panting 
as  if  from  a  long  chase. 

"  I  thought  the  situation  over  thoroughly,  and 
concluded  that  my  pants  would  be  more  natural 
if  augmented  by  physical  exercise. 

"  The  stage  door  opened  on  a  long  alley,  and 
I  decided  to  run  up  and  down  this  thoroughfare 
until  I  had  secured  the  natural  out-of- breath 
pants.  Unfortunately,  we  were  playing  in  an 
Indiana  town,  where  the  town  marshal  reigns 
supreme.  I  had  made  four  sprinting  trips  up 
and  down  the  alley  as  fast  as  I  could  go,  when  1 
was  nabbed  by  the  sovereign  arm  of  the  law. 

"'Now,  I've  got  ye!'  he  chuckled.  *  So 
you're  the  critter  as  has  been  cuttin'  up  your 
didos  in  these  parts  the  past  week,  air  ye? 
Well,  soimy,  come  with  me.  I  guess  the  cala- 
boose will  hold  ye.' 

"  I  fought  and  tried  to  explain,  but  in  vain. 
He  dragged  me  off  to  the  station,  where  the  man 


Taait  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage  63 

on  guard  said,  *  Mebbe  he's  tellin'  the  truth. 
Take  him  to  the  theatre  and  find  out.' 

"I  knew  it  was  my  time  to  go  on,  and  was 
desperate;  but  the  constables  took  their  time 
and  marched  me  between  them. 

"The  curtain  had  been  held  for  ten  minutes, 
while  they  looked  for  me  everywhere,  and  the 
marshal  was  satisfied  that  I  had  told  the  truth. 
However,  I  was  completely  cured  of  trying  real- 
istic methods  in  my  work  ever  after. 

Not  Letter-Perfect 

When  Frank  Daniels,  the  comedian,  began  as 
an  actor,  he  had  a  small  part  in  a  romantic 
drama.  He  was  young  and  ambitious,  but  he 
was  impressed  with  his  surroundings  and  very 
nervous  on  his  first  night. 

He  had  nothing  to  do  but  stand  around  in  the 
first  two  acts,  but  in  the  third  act  he  had  a  line. 
It  was  his  business  to  rush  in  at  a  critical  mo- 
ment and  shout:  "The  king  is  dead!  Long 
live  the  king  I  " 

Daniels  stood  in  the  wings  waiting  for  his 
cue.  It  came,  and  he  staggered  out  on  the 
stage,  a  wreck  from  stage-fright.  He  tried  to 
speak,  couldn't ;  tried  again,  gulped  ;  and,  then, 
with  one  tremendous  effort  yelled  : 

"  Long  live  the  king  !     He's  dead  I  ** 


64         Mlt  anO  "toumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

"  Fair  Harvard  " 

One  of  the  most  unexpected  and  amusing,  not 
to  say  disconcerting,  scenes  occurred  when 
Henry  Woodruff  was  playing  the  Imp  with  Nat 
Goodwin  in  When  We  Were  Twenty- One. 
"  This  was  at  the  Colonial  Theatre,  Boston,  sev- 
eral years  ago,  and  it  broke  me  up  comj)letely 
and  almost  brought  the  presentation  to  a  close  be- 
fore it  was  fairly  begun,"  says  the  actor  in 
question. 

"John  the  Orangeman  was  the  cause  of  the 
demonstration.  All  Harvard  students  have  an 
affection  for  Old  John,  and  during  my  four  years 
at  Harvard  we  became  great  friends. 

"  It  was  not  long  after  my  college  days  that  I 
returned  to  Boston  with  Goodwin's  company, 
and  John  had  bought  a  seat  in  the  first  row  for 
the  opening  night.  He  did  not  notify  me  that 
he  would  be  among  those  present.  He  admitted 
afterward  that  he  wanted  to  take  me  by  surprise, 
and  he  did. 

"  On  the  instant  of  my  entrance,  I  had  the 
vision  of  a  grizzle-bearded,  wiry  little  figure 
rising  out  of  an  aisle  seat  in  the  front  row, 
waving  its  arms,  emitting  a  whoop  and  then 
letting  out  the  college  yell,  '  Rah,  rah,  rah  ! 
Rah,  rah,  rah  I     Rah,  rah,  rah  !     Har-vard  ! ' 

"  Then  John  tried  to  climb  over  the  brass  rail- 


mu  anO  Dumor  of  tbe  Stage         65 

ing  to  the  orchestra  pit  with  the  intention  of 
getting  on  the  stage.  Goodwin  was  annoyed  ; 
but  I  was  speechless  for  a  moment,  and  was 
guilty  of  a  paroxysm  of  laughter  not  found  on 
the  prompt  book. 

"The  ushers  pulled  John  off  the  orchestra 
leader's  back  and  escorted  him  to  the  lobby. 
Then  several  Harvard  boys  in  the  audience 
came  to  John's  rescue  and  begged  the  mana- 
ger to  let  him  remain  for  the  evening,  but 
John  refused  to  do  so.  He  was  indignant  that 
he  was  not  permitted  to  greet  an  old  friend  in  a 
hearty  manner." 


No  Mistake 

Louis  James  combines  with  the  talent  for 
practical  joking  a  temper  of  the  kind  that  not 
infrequently  is  observed  to  go  with  it.  Some 
time  ago  the  proprietor  of  a  Texas  hotel,  he  had 
just  left  requested  him  by  telegraph  to  return 
certain  sheets  and  towels  which,  as  the  message 
read,  had  been  taken  "  by  mistake."  Mr. 
James  brought  suit  for  libel,  as  newspaper  read- 
ers will  remember. 

Shortly  after  that  he  was  taking  a  one-night 
stand  in  a  Western  town  in  which  the  proprietor 
of  the  hotel  was  a  friend  of  his.  He  was  de- 
layed in  his  arrival,  and,  as  he  had  to  leave  for 


66  imit  anO  Dumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

the  next  stand  at  the  end  of  the  performance,  he 
went  to  the  general  wash-room  instead  of  to  his 
own  apartments.  The  proprietor  poHtely  but 
persistently  begged  him  to  go  up-stairs  to  wash, 
urging  that  no  charge  would  be  made  for  the 
rooms. 

When  Mr.  James  opened  the  door  he  discov- 
ered the  reason.  The  towels  were  lashed  to  the 
rack  with  pieces  of  clothes-line,  the  soap  was 
nailed  to  the  wash-stand,  and  a  huge  anchor 
suspended  from  the  head  of  the  bed  held  the 
pillow-shams  firmly  in  place,  Mr,  James  tells 
the  story  on  himself,  and  professes  gratitude  for 
the  fact  that  he  yielded  to  the  proprietor's  en- 
treaties. 


A  Children's  Play 

The  following  true  story  belongs  rather  to  the 
realms  of  private  theatricals,  yet  may  be  in- 
cluded here  for  its  delicious  fiaivete. 

When  the  present  King  of  England,  Edward 
the  Seventh,  was  a  little  boy,  he  and  his  younger 
brothers  and  sisters — among  them  the  Princess 
Royal,  Princess  Louise,  Prince  Arthur,  and 
Princess  Beatrice — had  a  famous  play-room  in 
Balmoral  Castle  where  high  jinks  were  Jield. 

Among  the  favorite  amusements  of  the  royal 
children  was  the  acting  of  charades  and  make- 


THait  and  fjumor  of  tbe  Stage         67 

believe  plays,  the  latter  often  made  up  by  them- 
selves. Prince  Albert  and  Queen  Victoria  were 
quite  proud  of  their  exceedingly  bright  bevy  of 
children,  and  often  laughed  heartily  at  their 
quaint  conceits. 

Upon  a  certain  occasion,  Balmoral  Castle  was 
full  of  grown-up  guests,  and  one  evening  the 
children  were  allowed  to  come  into  the  drawing- 
room  and  encouraged  to  give  one  of  their  plays. 

A  "  make-believe  "  scene  was  hastily  arranged 
by  means  of  chairs  and  settees,  representing 
supposedly  the  courtyard  of  an  English  Nor- 
man castle.  The  Prince  of  Wales,  as  a  gallant 
knight,  came  prancing  in  on  horseback,  just 
returning  from  the  Crusades. 

In  the  courtyard  he  found  his  lady  wife — 
the  Princess  Alice — and  her  ladies  drawn  up  to 
receive  him,  while  on  near-by  seats  were  arranged 
as  spectators  a  fine  array  of  dolls,  male  and 
female,  supposedly  children  of  the  knight  and 
his  lady. 

The  brave  knight  recounted  his  adventures 
with  much  pomp  of  language ;  at  the  end  of  the 
recital  his  wife  advanced  with  her  ladies  to 
deliver  the  keys  of  the  castle  as  its  chatelaine. 
After  some  equally  high-flown  language  the  lady 
stepped  back  a  pace  or  two,  and  swept  the  array 
of  dolls  with  an  all-inclusive  gesture,  saying  : 


68         •wait  an£>  Ibumot  of  tbe  Stage 

"And  we,  too,  my  lord,  have  not  been  idle 
during  your  absence  !  " 


Playing  by  Proxy 

"  In  my  early  stage  career  in  California," 
says  Blanche  Bates,  "  I  was  cast  for  a  part  in  a 
melodrama  that  required  technical  skill  as  a 
pianist  to  interpret,  and  so  it  was  arranged  to 
give  the  man  in  the  orchestra  the  work  of  fur- 
nishing the  music,  and  I  was  provided  with  a 
dummy  piano  to  play  upon  the  stage. 

"  All  went  well  until  the  second  act,  when 
the  musician's  soul  started  wandering  and  he 
lost  himself  in  reverie,  which  well-nigh  proved 
fatal  to  me.  Every  one  had  left  the  stage  and 
the  time  for  my  exit  had  passed,  but  the  music 
continued. 

"'Come  off!'  came  in  stentorian  whispers 
from  the  wings. 

"'Not  yet,'  I  replied  significantly.  The 
music  was  coming  in  floods.  I  was  delaying 
the  action  of  the  play,  and  I  knew  it ;  but  what 
could  I  do  ? 

"  The  voice  from  the  wings  grew  insistent. 
'  Everybody  is  off  !     What's  the  matter  ?  ' 

"  I  was  almost  frantic  in  hysteria  when  they 
sent  a  maid  in  to  my  assistance,  and  between 


TKnit  and  Ibumoc  of  tbc  Stage  6& 

paroxysms  I  exclaimed  :    '  Stop  that  music  down 
in  front !  '" 

Forrest  and  the  Super 

A  rehearsal  of  Brutus  by  Edwin  Forrest  was 
in  progress  at  Niblo's  Garden,  New  York,  and 
in  one  scene  a  messenger  (a  super)  rushes  on  the 
stage  with  news  of  treachery  to  the  great  trage- 
dian, who  is  sitting  in  a  chair  on  the  centre  of 
the  stage. 

"  Liar  !  "  thunders  the  actor  in  a  rage,  as  he 
seizes  the  messenger  and  hurls  him  to  the  foot- 
lights. The  super  fell  in  a  heap  and  rose  so 
clumsily  that  Forrest  fairly  bellowed,  "Get  up, 
you  idiot,  and  sit  in  that  chair  !  I  will  show 
you  how  to  fall!  I'll  deliver  your  message; 
and  you  be  sure  to  grasp  me  as  I  did  you." 

The  super,  who  was  a  Bowery  athlete,  sat 
down  and  braced  himself  for  the  fray,  and  when 
Forrest  came  within  reach  he  found  himself  in 
an  iron  grip,  and  was  thrown  to  the  edge  of  the 
stage  with  great  force.  The  bruised  tragedian 
fell  gracefully,  and  slowly  picked  himself  up, 
gasping,  "  You  awkward  brute,  that  is  the  way 
to  fall!" 

To  this  the  super  replied,  "See  here,  Ned,  if 
I  got  half  as  much  pay  as  you  do,  I'll  be  blanked 
if  I  wouldn't  do  it  twice  as  well  !  " 


70         Timit  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Staflc 

May  Buckley 

"I  thought  I  had  entirely  outgrown  my  fond- 
ness for  dolls  until  I  joined  the  company  pro- 
ducing The  Manxman,''  said  the  lady  recently. 

*'  We  were  traveling  all  over  the  country,  and 
in  the  cast  was  a  baby  which  was  impersonated 
in  this  instance  by  a  big  doll,  almost  human  in 
size  and  appearance.  We  carried  it  while  on 
the  road  in  a  white  casket  to  keep  it  safe,  and 
that  doll  was  my  particular  pride.  All  of  my 
spare  time  I  was  making  it  clothes,  crocheting 
lace,  or  embroidering  robes.  In  fact,  it  received 
as  much  attention  from  me  as  most  children  do 
from  their  mothers. 

"  I  played  the  role  of  Kate,  who  abandons 
Pete,  her  husband,  and  her  child,  for  the 
Deemster. 

"  At  last  I  return  to  steal  the  child,  and  Pete 
discovers  me,  but  misinterprets  my  return. 

"  '  Oh,  you  have  come  back  to  me,  Kate.' 

"  *  No,  no  !  '  I  interrupt.  'I've  come  for  the 
child.' 

"  'Oh,  Kate,  go  away  if  you  will  and  take  my 
heart  with  you  ;  but  leave  me  my  child  ! ' 

"'She  is  not  yours!'  I  cry  defiantly,  and 
then  I  felt  a  movement  in  my  arm  and  stood 
speechless.  The  doll's  head  dropped  off  and 
rolled  to  its  father's  feet. 


Mlt  anO  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage         7i 

"  The  curtain  came  down  with  deafening  ap- 
plause." 

Headlight  vs.  Footlight 

"Away  up  in  Pocatello,  Idaho,  a  few  years 
ago,"  said  T.  Daniel  Frawley,  "I  was  present- 
ing the  old  favorite,  Bluejeans.  The  electric 
lights  of  the  city  were  controlled  by  two  polit- 
ical factions,  the  city  and  the  railway  company. 

"Some  accident  had  knocked  the  city's  sup- 
ply off,  and  the  railroad  company's  men  had 
gone  on  a  strike,  and  in  consequence  at  eight 
o'clock  the  whole  city  was  in  darkness.  I  sent 
out  to  buy  candles ;  but  they  made  a  ghostly 
flicker  as  footlights.  I  was  in  despair,  when  the 
colored  doorkeeper  burst  in  upon  me. 

"'Say,  boss,  there's  a  big  headlight  on  the 
engine  in  the  company's  yard.' 

"  '  Bring  it  here  and  I'll  give  you  ten  dollars  ! ' 
I  shouted. 

' ' '  You  bet  I  will !     But  if  they  ketch  me ' 

"  'Bring  it  along  !  ' 

"The  boy  returned  in  a  few  minutes,  his  eyes 
rolling  in  glee  at  the  thought  of  his  promised  ten. 

"I  placed  the  headlight  at  the  back  of  the 
auditorium,  down  the  centre  aisle,  and  threw  all 
the  light  upon  the  stage,  and  then  we  proceeded 
with  the  play." 


72         mit  anJ)  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

He  Talked  Through  the  Chimney 

"  In  the  year  1876,"  says  a  prominent  trage- 
dian, "I  was  with  Edwin  Booth,  playing  lago 
to  his  Othello  in  the  South,  and  for  the  first 
time  I  was  made  aware  of  Booth's  horror  of  the 
breaking  up  of  a  scene.  He  could  see  abso- 
lutely nothing  funny  in  anything  that  destroyed 
an  illusion  or  spoiled  an  artistic  effect. 

"  In  those  early  days  traveling  companies  did 
not  carry  their  scenery  with  them,  and  some  of 
the  makeshift  stock  scenes  supplied  by  the  vari- 
ous theatres  were  excruciatingly  bad. 

"  In  the  first  scene  of  Othello  the  stage  is  set 
for  Brabantio's  home.  This  theatre  furnished 
us  a  'set  house'  with  foliage  about  the  top  of 
the  painted  cottage,  which  contained  a  chimney 
in  the  centre,  one  window  beneath  it,  and  a 
door. 

"  As  the  play  goes  on,  the  citizens  go  to 
Brabantio's  home  to  tell  him  that  his  daughter 
has  eloped  with  the  Moor.  They  call  to  him 
and  knock  at  the  door,  and  Brabantio  is  sup- 
posed to  look  out  of  the  window  first  before 
opening  the  door  to  the  citizens. 

"As  it  happened  in  this  town,  the  man  who 
played  Brabantio  in  our  company  took  sick,  and 
we  had  to  take  an  understudy  for  his  part,  who 
was  a  man  six  feet  four  inches  tall. 


"Wmt  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stase         73 

"The  manuscript  of  the  original  Brabantio 
was  handed  to  him,  and  was  simply  marked  for 
this  business  :  '  Top  of  step-ladder,  to  window 
back  of  set  house.' 

"The  scene  progressed,  and  our  new  Bra- 
bantio made  his  appearance,  but  it  nearly  sent 
us  in  convulsions;  for,  instead  of  appearing  at 
the  window,  his  head  and  shoulders  towered 
above  the  chimney.  He  was  innocent  of  his 
blunder,  and  read  his  lines  from  the  chimney- 
top  with  a  dignity  that  was  nothing  short  of 
torture  to  the  actors  below.  When  he  tried  to 
make  an  entrance  through  the  five-foot  door,  he 
had  to  fold  himself  together  in  order  to  get 
through,  and  then  the  audience  discovered  why 
he  had  talked  from  the  chimney.  The  applause 
was  deafening,  and  the  only  man  who  did  not 
appreciate  it  was  Edwin  Booth." 

Scalped 

Grace  Elliston  was  once  cast  for  the  part  of 
the  mother  of  John  the  Baptist  in  a  Biblical 
play,  and  just  at  the  climax  of  one  act,  in  the 
denunciation  scene,  the  stage  hoodoo  robbed  her 
of  applause  for  merit  and  brought  laughter  in- 
stead of  tears. 

Her  scene  was  with  Herod,  and  her  curse  was 
ringing   out,   "  His  voice  will  come  to  you  in 


74         imit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stase 

•the  night."  Then  she  stopped  as  the  couriers 
brought  in  the  head  of  John  the  Baptist  on  a 
tray,  covered  by  a  napkin,  and  placed  it  before 
Herod. 

She  snatched  off  the  napkin  in  her  frenzy  and 
caught  the  wig  with  it,  and  there  lay  the  dummy 
head  as  bare  as  a  baby. 

The  audience  is  quick  to  notice  these  things, 
and  Miss  EUiston  got  a  hand  that  night  for  her 
awkwardness. 

Where  Money  Refused  to  Talk 
The  stories  told  of  actors,  whose  wit  has  saved 
the  day  on  many  trying  occasions,  are  legion  and 
make  good  reading.  The  public  is  too  apt  to 
regard  n)ost  of  these  reminiscences  as  the  cre- 
ation of  the  actor's  imagination.  Probably  the 
funniest  things  are  said  and  done  by  the  strollers 
who  have  their  turn  in  one-night  stands — when 
there  was  no  audience  to  applaud,  and  where 
the  discomforts  of  makeshift  hotels  give  an  edge 
to  life,  either  pathetic  or  comic. 

"For  many  years,"  says  John  Mason,  **I 
was  a  member  of  the  old  Boston  Museum,  when 
dear  old  George  Middleton  was  with  the  com- 
pany. After  closing  the  Boston  season,  we  were 
usually  sent  on  the  road  ;  and  in  this  instance 
the  play  was  Ingomar. 


THUft  anO  Dumor  of  tbe  Stage         75 

"  The  town,  as  I  recollect  it,  was  Amesbury, 
Massachusetts,  and  we  arrived  while  the  inhab- 
itants were  in  the  throes  of  a  big  circus.  The 
hotel  was  filled  to  overflowing,  and  there  was 
nowhere  to  lay  our  heads. 

"  We  had  but  two  women  in  the  company, 
yet  our  manager  and  his  money  talked  to  that 
landlord  with  no  avail — there  simply  was  no 
room  for  the  ladies. 

"  Finally,  about  nine  o'clock  that  evening, 
the  landlord  relented,  and  said  that  the  women 
might  sleep  with  his  wife,  and  he  would  sit  up. 

"  It  was  also  arranged  by  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany to  sleep  on  the  stage,  with  such  comforts 
as  the  hairy  wardrobe  of  Ingomar  could  provide. 

"Each  member  of  the  cast  was  wrapped  in 
his  furs  and  restlessly  rolled  all  night,  hunting 
for  the  soft  spots  on  the  boards. 

"  About  3  A.  M.  we  saw  a  shivering  figure 
glide  among  us.  '  Gee  whiz  !  but  it's  cold,'  a 
chattering  voice  said. 

"  It  was  George  Middleton.  He  looked 
around  him  at  the  huddled  group  and  said : 
'  You  are  a  fuzzy  bunch  !  '  And  then  his  eye 
fell  upon  the  background.  '  No  wonder  it  is 
cold — we  are  sleeping  in  an  open  forest.'  Quick 
as  lightning  his  hands  flew  to  the  pulley  ropes 
— the  old-fashioned  way  of  dropping  a  scene — 


76         "Mit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

and  he   continued :     '  I'll   change   the  temper- 
ature.    I'll  just  drop  an  interior.' 

"  Instantly  the  scene  was  changed,  and  Mid- 
dleton  chuckled  with  satisfaction.  *  Now,  that 
is  more  like  it ; — here  we  are  with  all  the  com- 
forts of  home — by  the  woods  shut  out  and  by 
the  house  shut  in.     Go  to  sleep,  boys.'  " 


Ready  Wit  Came  a  Cropper 
Since  there  has  been  so  much  written  about 
the  presence  of  mind  of  stage  folk,  it  has  come 
to  be  generally  believed  that  they  are  very  sel- 
dom fazed  by  contretemps  during  the  perform- 
ance. But  during  the  last  engagement  of 
Trilby  in  New  York,  the  delay  of  one  actor  in 
responding  to  his  cue  threw  three  others  on  the 
boards  into  a  veritable  panic,  much  to  tbe 
amusement  of  the  audience.  The  wait  covered 
several  minutes,  which  might  have  been  filled  in 
with  improvised  talk  and  "business"  had  not 
all  three  lost  their  heads. 

The  incident  recalls  an  experience  related  of 
R.  K.  Barnet,  author  of  I4g2  and  other  musical 
comedies. 

Barnet  once  tried  his  hand  at  acting,  but 
came  to  grief  in  a  curious  way  while  "  winging 
his  part."     He  had  never  seen  the  play,  and 


TIClit  an&  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage  77 

was  snapped  up  to  fill  a  role  in  an  emergency, 
almost  as  the  curtain  went  up. 

He  got  through  two  acts  without  serious 
trouble,  and  congratulated  himself  that  his  part 
in  the  others  was  very  short.  When  Barnet 
heard  his  cue  in  the  fourth  act  he  thrust  the 
manuscript  of  the  part  into  his  pocket,  and 
went  on.  His  first  line  was,  "  My  Lord,  letters 
from  the  Pretender,"  and  as  he  spoke  the  first 
two  words  it  flashed  upon  him  that  he  hadn't 
any  letters.  But  he  was  equal  to  the  emer- 
gency ;  he  drew  out  his  manuscript  as  he  spoke, 
and  calmly  handed  it  over  in  place  of  the  letters. 

If  Barnet  had  known  the  business  of  the  act, 
he  certainly  wouldn't  have  done  so  ;  for  "  My 
Lord,"  after  glaring  a  second  or  two  at  the 
manuscript,  tore  it  into  little  bits,  as  he  ex- 
claimed, "Thus  do  I  treat  all  communications 
from  such  a  source  !  " 

There  was  no  other  copy  of  his  part  in  the 
theatre,  and  so  it  had  to  be  cut  out  of  the  rest 
of  the  play. 


An  Actor's  Subterfuges 

"Every  actor  prides  himself  most  upon  his 
ability   to  'fake'   when   it  is  necessary,"   said 


78         "wait  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

James  Fulton.  "  I  remember  once,  when  I  was 
young  in  the  business,  we  were  playing  Fly  by 
Night  and  the  heroine  was  supposed  to  kill  the 
heavy.  The  audience  was  primed  up  to  the 
climax,  as  only  theone-show-every-three-months- 
town  audience  can  be.  '  Now  die  !  '  she  cried, 
and  pulled  the  trigger.  Snap  went  the  hammer 
against  a  dead  cartridge  and  the  villain  lived. 
Snap  went  the  gun  again ;  the  heavy  still  stood 
waiting  the  report.  Snap  !  for  the  third  time, 
but  no  flash  of  powder  followed.  The  heavy 
threw  up  his  hands,  and,  doing  the  stage  fall, 
cried  :  '  My  God  !  I've  been  shot  with  an  air- 
gun.' 

"  Another  time  we  were  putting  on  one  of 
those  English  melodramas  dealing  with  the  coal 
mines  of  England.  The  scene  was  laid  at  the 
bottom  of  the  pit,  700  feet  below  the  surface. 
The  heavy  was  destined  to  die  in  this  act,  by 
the  bullet  of  one  of  his  treacherous  cohorts,  the 
shot  being  fired  from  behind  the  scenes,  sup- 
posed to  come  from  one  of  the  subterranean  pas- 
sages. He  gave  his  cue  for  the  shot,  but  the 
report  failed.  Props  was  evidently  busy. 
Again  he  gave  the  cue,  but  failed  to  get  the  re- 
ply. Suddenly  he  wheeled  and,  falling  to  the 
stage,  cried,  'My  God!  I've  been  struck  by 
lightning  !  '  " 


"Cmit  and  ■fcumor  of  tbe  Stage         79 

A  Queer  Skull 
This  Story  shows  the  careless,  happy-go-lucki- 
ness of  the  Irish  character.  King,  the  tragedian, 
was  playing  Hamlet,  and  after  the  graveyard 
scene  he  discovered  that  his  hands  were  filthy 
and  black,  as  if  he  had  been  touching  soot.  He 
inquired  the  cause  of  the  property  man,  who 
said,  "Shure,  it's  the  glue-pot,  sorr  !  "  And 
so  it  was.  The  skull  used  in  the  play  also  did 
duty  as  the  glue-pot.  To  what  base  uses  may 
we  not  descend  ! 


Lost  Armful  of  Beauty 

Otis  Skinner  tells  an  anecdote  of  his  salad 
days  when  he  was  playing  in  The  FooT s  Revenge 
with  Edwin  Booth.  On  one  memorable  occa- 
sion it  fell  to  young  Skinner  to  assist  in  carrying 
the  abducted  daughter  down  the  ladder,  but  the 
leading  lady  was  by  no  means  a  sylph,  and 
Skinner  was  only  a  stripling. 

"  We  must  have  a  dummy,"  decided  the 
stage-manager,  at  rehearsal. 

So  one  of  those  figures  used  in  dry-goods 
stores  on  which  to  display  gowns  was  procured, 
and  the  night  of  the  performance  arrived. 

At  the  crucial  moment  Skinner  ascended  the 
ladder,  with  Booth  waiting  at  the  foot,  eager  for 
the  culmination   of  his  revenge  on   the  duke. 


80         *wait  anD  Ibumoc  of  tbc  Stage 

A  stage-hand  passed  the  dummy  over  the  bal- 
cony, Skinner  received  it,  but  in  his  eagerness 
took  too  large  a  half  in  his  arms.  He  felt  him- 
self being  overbalanced,  and  in  order  to  save 
his  neck,  let  go  his  hold  on  the  figure  to  grab  a 
round  of  the  ladder. 

Out  into  the  air  shot  the  light-weight  daughter 
of  the  fool,  down  on  the  stage  upon  her  head 
she  landed,  and  those  who  had  come  to  shudder 
remained  to  laugh  until  their  sides  ached. 

Over  what  was  said  to  the  stripling  actor 
afterward  Mr.  Skinner  drew  the  veil  of  silence. 


Says  Yvette  Guilbert 

**  I  was  playing  at  the  Folies  Bergeres  a  few 
years  ago,  when  Fate  played  me  a  trick  that 
nearly  robbed  me  of  my  reason. 

"Only  the  week  previous,  my  physician  in- 
formed me  that  I  must  submit  to  an  operation 
immediately  if  I  wished  to  save  my  hfe,  and  I 
was  finishing  the  last  night  of  my  engagement  at 
the  theatre,  preparatory  to  my  uncertain  result 
of  hospital  treatment,  when  the  hoodoo  con- 
fronted me. 

"It  was  summer-time  and  I  sat  by  the  open 
door  of  my  dressing-room  watching  the  players 
trip  by  to  the  stage.     One  girl  came  along  and 


Ulltt  anD  lb u  mot  of  tbe  Stage         81 

stopped  for  me  to  admire  her  gown.  It  was 
pretty,  and  I  told  her  so. 

"  '  But  what  do  you  represent,  my  dear?  '  I 
askcil. 

"  'Sorrow,'  she  murmured. 

'  ♦  After  she  left  me,  I  closed  the  door  and  be- 
gan to  brood  over  rny  physical  trouble,  and  a 
fearful  foreboding  took  possession  of  me.  '  Sor- 
row," in  picturesque  attire,  had  stalked  by  my 
door,  and  perhaps — perhaps  her  call  was  an 
omen  of  what  to  expect  from  Fate.  The  blood 
was  pounding  in  my  ears,  and  I  wanted  to  cry 
out ;  but  I  could  not. 

"  Then  a  bold,  loud  knock  came  at  my  door. 

'"Who  is  there?'  I  called. 

"'Death,'  was  the  reply,  as  a  pretty  young 
girl  curtsied  in  a  dress  of  clinging  black  ;  'death, 
the  unwelcome  visitor.' 

"  I  shrieked  and  lost  my  senses.  Months 
afterward,  during  my  convalescence,  the  inci- 
dent became  a  laughable  memory ;  but  it  was 
void  of  humor  at  the  time." 

Lauder's  Entrance 

There  is  a  story  of  Harry  Lauder,  the  Scotch 

comedian,  which  is  known  among  his  intimate 

countrymen,  although  not  whispered  in  Lauder's 

presence,  for  he  does  not  quite  relish   it.     It 


82         TMit  anD  Ibumoi;  of  tbe  Stage 

seems  that  when  he  came  to  London  for  the  first 
time,  the  stage  reputation  he  had  gained  in  the 
provinces  had  not  made  much  of  an  impression 
on  the  metropolis,  indifferent,  as  usual,  to  new- 
comers. 

With  a  shrewd  sense  of  the  value  of  striking 
effects,  Lauder  decided  he  would  arouse  the 
Londoners  to  his  peculiar  merits  in  a  novel  man- 
ner. From  some  bone-yard  or  other  he  pro- 
cured the  most  skeleton-like  specimen  of  horse- 
flesh that  he  could  find.  On  this  he  planned  to 
make  his  entrance  upon  the  stage  of  the  theatre 
at  which  he  was  to  have  his  premiere. 

The  bunch  of  bones  was  tractable  enough 
in  the  wings,  with  Harry  astride,  awaiting  his 
"turn."  But  when  the  little  comedian  urged 
the  beast  forward  for  the  grand  entrance,  there 
was  a  balk,  a  buck,  and  Lauder  was  ingloriously 
shot  to  the  footlights  over  the  horse's  head,  the 
animal  peering  after  him  with  what  might  be 
called  an  equine  grin.  Lauder  slowly  and  pain- 
fully rose  to  his  feet,  while  the  gallery  applauded 
and  stamped  and  cried,  with  shouts  of : 

"  Do  it  again,  Harry  !     Once  more,  Harry  !  " 

Lauder  felt  of  his  bones,  looked  back  at  the 
horse,  and,  turning  to  the  audience,  said  : 

"  Like  hell  I  will !  "  His  popularity  in  Lon- 
don was  assured. 


TKlit  anD  f3umot  of  tbc  Stage         83 

Acting  Better  Than  He  Knew 
Robert  Loraine's  stage  fortunes  began  with  an 
unrehearsed  mishap,  says  he,  recalling  the  inci- 
dent. "  When  I  was  a  lad  of  fourteen,  1  had 
my  start  in  the  profession,  for  which  I  received 
the  munificent  sum  of  three  dollars  and  seventy- 
five  cents  a  week.  But  I  was  rich  in  determina- 
tion, if  not  in  salary,  and  walked  four  miles  to 
my  home  from  Liverpool  twice  a  day  and  lived 
on  toast  and  tea.  To  add  to  my  troubles,  I  had 
the  enmity  of  the  leading  man,  who  tried  to 
crush  me  at  every  opportunity. 

«*It  was  my  first  important  role  in  The  Ice 
Kin^s  Vow.  I  had  secured  the  promise  of  a 
stage-manager  to  be  present  at  the  opening  per- 
formance to  see  me  act.  Nothing  else  mattered 
to  me  but  to  impress  him.  I  tipped  the  supers 
with  a  shilling  and  denied  myself  food,  that  the 
occasion  might  be  auspicious  for  that  manager's 
benefit.  In  the  meantime,  my  enemy,  who  was 
playing  the  part  of  the  leader  of  a  pirate  band, 
was  also  preparing  to  foil  me. 

"I  had  quite  a  heroic  speech,  which  should 
have  continued  without  interruption  to  the  last 
of  it.  My  plea  for  my  daughters  who  were  cap- 
tured by  the  pirate  chief  began,  '  Look  at  them  ! 
Regard  them  well,  chieftain,  these  the  said 
pledges  left  me  by  their ' 


84         imtt  an£)  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stase 

"'I  know  what  you  would  say/  he  inter- 
rupted. 

"'Sainted  mother,'  I  continued.  'It  has 
ever  been  my  care  to  watch  over  them,  to 
make  them  worthy  to  become  good  men's  wives 
and ' 

"'Away  with  the  old  dotard!'  yelled  the 
chieftain. 

*' '  No,  I  will  not  be  taken  away — and  honest 
men's  mothers.  Can  you  throw  to  the  winds  all 
this,  all  their  entreaties,  and  my ' 

'"Be  silent !  ' 

"  '  No,  I  will  not  be  silenced — prayers,  a 
father's  prayers?  Oh,  take  my  kingdom,  coin 
my  heart  for  gold  ;  but  pity,  and  spare  my  chil- 
dren's honor  I ' 

"My  vengeance  was  genuine  and  my  acting 
fierce.  In  trying  to  queer  me,  the  chieftain  had 
brought  out  my  spirit  and  realistic  mood.  His 
men  had  been  rehearsed  by  him  to  handle  me 
roughly  when  taking  me  prisoner,  and  I  fought 
like  a  madman,  which  I  was. 

"  The  end  of  it  all  was  that  the  audience  and 
manager  were  so  impressed  that  the  next  day  he 
made  me  an  offer  to  star." 

A  Lady  Giant-Killer 
"During  the  pantomime  Jack  and  the  Bean- 


Timit  anO  Dumoc  ot  tbe  StaflC         85 

stalk  at  Kettering,  in  which  I  took  the  part  of 
Jack,"  says  Edith  Wallis,  "  I  have  a  great  fight 
with  the  giant,  a  monster  who  towers  over  nine 
feet  in  height.  I  fight  him  with  a  sword.  My 
sword  did  not  arrive  in  time  for  the  opening 
performance,  so  I  had  to  seek  the  aid  of  the 
stage  carpenter,  who  very  quickly  made  me  a 
wooden  one.  And  I  must  confess  it  was  a 
beautiful  wooden  sword,  and  it  looked  just  like 
a  real  one.  But,  alas  !  after  the  first  lunge  it 
broke,  so  I  had  to  settle  the  giant  with  my  fist. 
1  soon  accomplished  the  task,  for  with  one  blow 
he  expired — a  mighty  giant  killed  by  a  lady's 
small  hand  !  " 


Going  Nature  One  Better 

In  the  days  of  his  youth  Mr.  Martin  Harvey 
was  destined  for  the  profession  of  naval  archi- 
tect, but  he  showed  such  strong  inclination  for 
the  stage  that,  on  the  advice  of  Sir  W.  S.  Gil- 
bert, he  was  placed  under  the  tuition  of  the  late 
John  Ryder,  teacher  of  elocution  and  at  one 
time  Macready's  leading  man. 

And  it  was  this  John  Ryder  who  figured  in 
one  of  the  funniest  rehearsal  stories  on  record. 

"  He  was  on  one  occasion  stage-managing  a 
play  in  which  a  tremendous  thunder-storm  oc- 
curred," to  quote  the  words  of  Mr.  Harvey,  who 


86         "Wnit  an&  t)umor  of  tbc  Stage 

tells  the  story  in  the  Era  Annual.  "Ryder 
had  called  half-a-dozen  special  rehearsals  of  this 
storm,  but  he  could  not  get  the  stage-hands  to 
obtain  enough  noise  out  of  boxes  and  cannon- 
balls.  In  the  end  he  got  exasperated,  and,  in  a 
temper,  called  out  to  the  flyman,  'That  won't 
do  at  all !     You  must  get  more  rattle.' 

"As  it  happened  a  genuine  and  violent  thun- 
der-storm was  in  full  blast  in  the  heavens  at  the 
time,  and  it  was  after  the  *  artillery  of  the 
clouds '  had  been  doing  its  best  that  Ryder  was 
the  most  dissatisfied.  '  Louder  !  Louder  !  ' 
shouted  Ryder.  The  flyman  shouted  in  return, 
'Beg  pardon,  sir;  that  wasn't  me.  That  was 
God  Almighty.' 

"'Well,'  roared  Ryder,  'that  may  be  loud 
enough  for  the  Almighty,  but  it  won't  do  for 
me.'" 

"  Genuflexions  " 
"  In  the  Cathedral  scene  of  yrt//<f  Shore,"  says 
Alfred  Lester,  "  several  of  the  supers  have  to  go 
up  the  stage  to  the  altar  and  make  genuflexions 
before  same.  After  being  rehearsed  several 
times  and  going  wrong,  the  irate  stage-manager 
shouted  at  them,  '  No,  no,  no.  Where  are 
your  genuflexions  ?  '  The  super-master  looked 
first  at  one  and  then  at  the  other,  evidently  not 


"mit  anD  fjumor  of  tbe  Staflc         87 

knowing  the  meaning  of  the  word,  and  then  re- 
plied, '  Well,  sir,  I  suppose  we  never  got  them 
from  the  property-master.'  " 


Hard  on  the  Chorus  Girls 
Gerald  Coventry,  the  stage- manager,  narrates 
an  amusing  incident  which  occurred  during  a 
rehearsal  of  T/i^  Pirates  of  Penzance  when  he 
was  bringing  out  the  piece.  At  the  point 
where  Frederick  the  hero  comes  in,  and  the  girls 
sing  :  — 

"  Oh,  is  there  not  one  maiden  here, 

Whose  homely  face  and  bad  complexion, 
Have  caused  all  hope  to  disappear 
Of  ever  winning  man's  affection  ?  " — 

a  charwoman,  who  had  been  watching  the  re- 
hearsal intently,  broke  out  with  the  audible  com- 
ment : 

"Begorra  !  and  I  think  there's  a  lot  of  them  !  " 


Fortunately  it  Was  at  Rehearsal 
This  from  Charles  Warner,  the  great  imper- 
sonator of  the  drunkard  in  Drink.  ' 

"  I  shall  never  forget  a  fiasco  that  happened 
to  me  when  playing  with  Samuel  Phelpil* 
Phelps  took  quite  a  fancy  to  me,  and  gave  me 
the  part  of  Fran<;ois  in  Richelieu.     You  remem- 


88         Timit  an£)  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

ber  the  business  of  wresting  the  package  out  of 
Francois'  hand  ?  Well,  Phelps  didn't  signify 
what  business  he  was  going  to  introduce  during 
rehearsals.  On  the  first  night  he  rushed  at  me 
and  knocked  the  package  right  out  of  my  hands, 
asking  me  at  the  same  time  what  I  had  to  say. 
I  was  so  taken  back  that  I  forgot  what  my  lines 
were,  and  merely  blurted  out,  '  I — er — don't 
know.'  " 


What  Was  the  Matter 

E.  A.  Sothern  has  an  amusing  story  about  a 
dilemma  he  once  got  into. 

"  1  was  acting  in  a  comedy  when  I  had  to 
speak  the  words,  '  What's  the  matter  ?  '  Well, 
one  night  I  was  rather  slow  about  taking  my 
cue,  and  was  prompted.  I  forgot  myself  for  the 
moment,  and  when  the  words  came,  *  What's 
the  matter?'  I  thought  something  or  other  had 
occurred  out  of  the  common.  1  paused  and 
looked  round.  Everything  seemed  normal, 
and  the  stage  waited.  Then  came  another 
'  What's  the  matter  ? '  from  the  O.  P.  side. 
^  They  were  all  getting  anxious  behind  the 
scenes  ;  and  so  was  I,  for  that  matter.  I  looked 
myself  up  and  down,  and  then  scanned  my  fel- 
low actor  ;  but  for  the  life  of  me  couldn't  see  any- 
thing wrong.     At  last  an  audible  whisper  came 


TlCltt  anO  fjumor  of  tbc  Stage         89 

«  Go  on  with  your  lines,  you  idiot  !  What's 
the  matter  with  you  ?  '  Then  it  suddenly 
dawned  on  me  where  I  was,  but  the  house  had 
tumbled  to  the  situation,  and  came  down  in 
convulsions." 

A  Laggard  Dawn 
Ah,  the  audience  held  their  breath  and  simply 
thr-r-rilled  as  Jack  Braveboy,  the  hero,  killed 
the  last  of  the  Indians.     He  staggered  about ; 
he  almost  fainted  with  loss  of  blood. 

Then  he  gazed  about  him,  and  suddenly  his 
voice  rang  out  with  hope. 

"See!"    he     cried.      "The    dawn    breaks 
bright  upon  yon  topmost  heights  !  " 
The  stage  remained  in  darkness. 
"See!"    he     yelled    again.     "The    dawn 
breaks  bright  upon  yon  topmost  heights  !  " 
Still  darkness  reigned. 

"The  dawn  !  the  dawn  !  "  he  screamed,  rag- 
ing about  the  stage.     "  It  breaks  !    The  dawn  !  " 
A  head  popped  over  the  mountain -top. 
"Old     'ard,     guv'nor  !  "     said     the     head. 
"  Don't   be  in  sich  a  blewmin'  hurry  1     Some 
one's  bin  an'  turned  the  gas  orf  1  " 

Retreat  ?     Never ! 
In  an  Irish  garrison  town  a  theatrical  com- 


90         TlCltt  an&  Ibumor  ot  tbc  Stage 

pany  was  giving  performances,  and  some  sol- 
diers from  the  local  barracks  were  engaged  to 
act  as  supers.  Their  duties  included  the  wag- 
ing of  a  fierce  fight  in  which,  after  a  stirring 
struggle,  one  army  was  defeated  on  a  given 
signal  fron)  the  prompter.  For  a  few  nights  all 
went  well,  but  on  the  Friday  evening  a  special 
performance  of  the  piece  was  to  be  given  under 
the  patronage  of  the  colonel  and  other  officers 
of  the  garrison.  The  two  armies  met  as  usual 
at  the  end  of  the  second  act,  when  they  fought 
and  fought  and  kept  on  fighting  regardless  of 
the  agonized  glare  in  the  eye  of  their  (actor) 
general,  who  hoarsely  ordered  the  proper  army 
to  "  Retreat,  confound  you."  But  the  fight 
still  went  on,  and  soon  the  horrified  manager 
saw  the  wrong  army  being  driven  slowly  off  the 
stage,  still  fighting  desperately.  Down  came  the 
curtain  amid  roars  of  laughter,  and  the  fuming 
manager  hastened  to  ask  the  delinquents  why 
they  had  failed  to  retreat  on  hearing  the  signal. 
"  Retraite,"  roared  a  burly  fusilier,  whose 
visage  had  been  badly  battered,  "and  is  it  re- 
traite ye'd  have  us,  wid  the  colonel  and  all  the 
officers  in  the  boxes  ?  " 


They  Meant  Business 
A  Chicago  stage-manager  was  telling  of  amus- 


TlCllt  auD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage         91 

ing  incidents  of  blunders  and  errors  caused  by 
stage  fright.     In  a  romantic  play,  recently  re-  " 
vived,  one  of  the  minor  characters,  a  dairymaid, 
comes  forward  at  the  end  of  the  recital  of  a  love 
romance  and  comments  as  follows  : 

"  Hope  filled  their  youth  and  whetted  their 
love;  they  plighted  their  troth  !  " 

But  at  one  of  the  performances  the  girl  who 
played  the  dairymaid  was  absent  without  notice. 
At  the  last  moment  the  manager  gave  the  lines 
to  a  shepherdess,  who  had  never  had  lines  to 
speak  before,  and  who  was  excessively  nervous 
when  her  cue  came.  This  is  what  the  astonished 
audience  heard : 

"  Hope  filled  their  trough  and  blighted  their 
love ;  they  whetted  their  tooth  !  " 


CHAPTER  III 

The  Eternal  Feminine 

There  was  probably  never  a  time  when  women 
filled  so  large  and  valuable  a  part  in  stage  affairs 
as  the  present,  and  it  is  an  open  question  whether, 
upon  the  whole,  feminine  or  masculine  stars 
shine  brightest  in  the  theatrical  firmament. 
Hence  it  is  no  wonder  that  we  find  our  present- 
day  actresses  furnishing  a  goodly  crop  of  stage 
wit  and  humor. 


A  Celestial  Visitor 

Mme.  Rejane,  the  famous  French  actress, 
once  had  a  novel  experience.  She  was  sitting 
at  five  o'clock  tea  on  the  lawn  at  her  summer 
villa,  when  an  air-ship  suddenly  settled  down 
beside  her.  Standing  up  in  it  was  Mme.  Henri 
Letellier,  who  observed  quietly  to  the  astonished 
lady  of  the  house  as  she  extended  her  hand : 
"We  have  called,  dear  raadame,  to  thank  you 
for  your  cooperation  in  our  charity  play." 
"This  is  the  first  time,"  smiled  Mme.  Rejane, 
"  that  any  one  has  dropped  from  the  clouds  to 
thank  me." 


imit  an5  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stase         93 

A  Fortune  In  a  Laugh 
One  of  the  most  valuable  assets  of  Happy 
Fanny  Fields,  who  recently  made  such  a  big 
"hit"  in  her  Aladdin  at  the  I'heatre  Royal, 
Newcastle,  is  her  infectious  laugh,  as  the  little 
lady's  audiences  soon  discover.  Questioned  by 
a  press-man  recently.  Miss  Fields  said  :  "  My 
laugh  !  Well,  it  had  rather  a  humorous  origin. 
1  was  playing  a  soubrette  part  in  Our  Boys  in 
California,  and  in  one  scene  I  had  to  throw 
some  ashes  out  of  a  window.  One  night,  when 
I  had  thrown  the  shovelful  out  (they  were  real 
ashes)  I  noticed,  too  late,  that  the  man  who  was 
playing  the  detective  was  standing  by  the  win- 
dow directly  in  the  line  of  fire.  He  got  the 
whole  thing  in  his  face,  and  I  heard  a  splutter. 
The  humor  of  the  thing  took  me  on  the  spot, 
and,  forgetting  I  was  on  the  stage,  I  just  dropped 
the  shovel  and  shrieked  witii  laughter.  After- 
ward I  tried  to  keep  out  of  the  stage-manager's 
way,  but  it  was  no  use ;  he  was  looking  for  me, 
and  he  found  me.  To  my  surprise,  however, 
instead  of  rating  mC;  he  said,  '  My  dear  girl,  if 
you  can  do  that  laugh  every  time,  there's  a  for- 
tune in  it.'     And  that  set  me  going." 


The  Rage  of  Bernhardt 
The  public  which  marveled  at  the  youthfulness 


M         lUit  an^  t>«mor  of  tbe  Stage 

of  Madame  Bernhardt's  voice  and  vigor,  in  spite 
of  her  threescore  years  and  more,  had  occasion, 
during  her  last  New  York  engagement,  to  marvel 
also  at  the  preservation  of  her  historic  temper. 
Appearing  in  eight  different  plays  in  six  days, 
each  of  them,  of  course,  containing  a  long  and 
trying  part,  she  had  naturally  no  strength  to  look 
to  the  details  of  stage  management.  The  won- 
der was  that  she  was  able  to  perform  that  his- 
trionic feat,  the  mere  reporting  of  which  proved 
a  heavy  burden  to  her  critics. 

In  the  great  scene  in  Daudct's  Sapho,  in  which 
Jean  quits  her  in  anger,  she  flies  into  a  rage, 
fetches  his  trunk  with  her  own  hands,  and  an- 
grily helps  him  pack.  As  it  happened,  the 
trunk  supplied  her  in  the  wings  was  a  scrubby 
little  affair,  evidently  belonging  to  one  of  the 
supers,  and  with  the  tour  label,  "  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt, Paris,"  in  staring  letters  pasted  across  the 
end.  At  sight  of  it  Madame  Bernhardt  flung  it 
upon  the  stage  with  the  reckless  energy  of  a 
baggage-smasher,  and  the  audience  burst  into 
uncontrollable  laughter.  This  was  bad  enough, 
but  on  going  to  a  flimsy  wardrobe  Sapho  dis- 
covered in  it,  as  the  entire  raiment  of  her  lover, 
a  rack  hung  with  dozens  upon  dozens  of  wash 
ties,  a  shirt  or  two,  and  absolutely  nothing  else. 
Then  the  rage  of  Sapho  knew  no  bounds.     She 


"Wait  aiiD  t)umor  of  tbe  Staoe  y6 

grabbed  those  lies  by  the  hamlfuls,  and  threw 
them,  not  into  the  trunk,  but  upon  the  unoffend- 
ing head  of  Jean  Gaussin.  The  curtain  rang 
(iown  amid  roars. 

The  stage-manager  evidently  took  this  for  ap- 
plause, and  immediately  made  the  curtain  soar 
again.  The  audience  was  delighted  with  a  view 
of  Bernhardt  and  her  leading  man  still  glaring 
at  each  other  in  more  than  theatric  passion. 


A  Novel  Support 

The  late  Will  McConnell  could  never  be  made 
to  take  his  work  seriously,  although  he  was  en- 
ergetic enough. 

He  became  manager  for  Amelia  Bingham  sev- 
eral years  ago,  and  that  relation  was  the  source 
of  many  characteristic  jokes.  His  friends  learned 
of  his  change  in  business  by  means  of  his  business 
card,  which  read  : 

Will  A.  McConnell 

supported  by 
Amelia  Bingham 

Miss  Bingham  did  continue  to  pay  his  salary 
for  some  time,  although  the  disagreements  be- 
tween them  were  fretjuent  and  amusing. 


96         Timit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage 

Only  Wanted  a  Joke 

It  happened  along  toward  the  final  rehearsals 
of  a  new  play  by  a  new  writer.  She  sat  in  the 
front  row  of  the  orchestra  stalls  in  solitary  state, 
taking  it  all  in.  Suddenly  the  star  called  a  halt 
in  the  proceedings  and  advanced  toward  the 
footlights. 

"  If  you  please,"  he  said,  addressing  himself 
to  the  playwright,  "we want  a  joke  right  here,  I 
find.     Will  you  kindly  make  one?  " 

"What!  now,  on  the  spot?"  exclaimed  the 
playwright.  "Why,  I  couldn't  do  it.  Could 
you  make  a  joke  to  order  on  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
ment like  that?  " 

"No,  certainly  not,"  replied  the  actor.  "It 
is  not  my  business.  But  you  are  the  author. 
It  should  be  easy  for  you." 

"  I  will  bring  you  a  joke  or  two  in  the  morn- 
ing," said  the  playwright.  "  It  is  quite  out  of 
the  question  to  produce  one  in  cold  blood." 

She  delivered  the  goods  the  next  day,  al- 
though she  was  frank  enough  to  admit  that  they 
lacked  the  snap  of  spontaneity. 

Mame,  the  Critic 

Marie  Cahill,  the  star  of  the  comedy,  Nancy 
Brown,  tells  this  story  : 

"  I  was  playing  on  one  occasion  in  Minne- 


Timit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbc  Staflc         97 

apolis  with  one  of  Daley's  companies,  when  a 
committee  waited  on  me  and  asked  if  I  would 
not  consent  to  appear  at  a  benefit  to  be  given  the 
next  afternoon  in  aid  of  the  families  of  several 
firemen,  who  had  been  killed  in  the  performance 
of  their  duties.  I  was  told  that  Joseph  Jeffer- 
son had  consented  to  appear  and  deliver  a  talk 
on  the  drama.  Of  course  I  consented,  feeling 
honored  to  participate  in  an  affair  of  the  kind, 
especially  as  I  was  to  play  with  Jefferson. 

"The  next  afternoon  I  found  myself  one  of  a 
great  gathering  of  professionals  of  all  kinds — 
mostly  vaudeville  performers,  I  fancy.  I  stood 
in  the  wings  as  Mr.  Jefferson  began  his  address 
on  the  drama,  and  was  deeply  interested  in 
what  that  distinguished  player  was  saying,  when 
suddenly  I  became  aware  that  a  young  woman 
was  peering  over  my  shoulder.  Her  hair  was 
blond,  and  she  wore  short  pink  skirts.  The 
song-and-dance  artist  was  stamped  indelibly  on 
her.  At  that  moment,  Mr.  Jefferson,  with  rare 
eloquence,  was  referring  to  the  comedies  of 
Wycherley  and  Sheridan  and  Goldsmith,  and 
for  a  second  I  lost  sight  of  my  companion,  when 
I  was  startled  to  hear  in  a  loud  whisper  from 
somewhere  back  in  the  wings  a  shrill,  girlish 
voice  saying : 

"  '  Hi,  Mame,  who's  on  now  ?  ' 


98         imilt  anD  Ibiimor  ot  tbc  Stage 

"  The  song-and-dance  fairy  beside  me  turned 
her  head  and  whispered  back  : 

"  '  I  dunno.  Some  old  guy  doin'  a  mono- 
logue.' " 

Stage-Struck 

People  whose  position  before  the  public  makes 
them  a  target  for  begging  letters  usually  find  that 
an  appeal  is  fraudulent  in  proportion  as  it  is  cal- 
culated to  work  upon  the  sympathies  ;  but  some- 
times a  request  for  aid  has  a  pathos  which  is  all 
the  deeper  because  it  is  unconscious.  Among 
the  many  letters  Clyde  Fitch  has  received,  he 
treasures  one  that  reads  somewhat  as  follows: 

"  Dear  Mr.  Clyde  Fitch  : 

"  For  eight  years,  ever  since  I  was  a  girl 
of  twenty-five,  1  have  been  a  hopeless  invalid, 
confined  to  my  couch  by  day  and  by  night. 
During  this  time  my  only  consolation  has  been 
making  lace,  and  I  have  now  completed  a  wed- 
ding veil  of  very  beautiful  design,  and  large 
enough  to  cover  me  from  head  to  foot.  I  am 
naturally  desirous  of  making  use  of  same,  and 
have  thought  how  nice  it  would  be  if  you  would 
write  me  a  play,  the  chief  scene  of  which  is  a 
wedding,  in  which  I  might  wear  it.  Before  I 
was  sick  I  once  played  in  private  theatricals,  and 
friends  said  I  was  very  beautiful,  though  they 
may  have  been  prejudiced.  I  know  that  I  am 
not  an   actress  like  Bernhardt  or  Mrs.  I.,eslie 


I 


•wait  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage         99 

Carter;  but  your  plays  do  not  generally  call  for 
acting,  and  even  if  you  did  rise  to  greater  heights, 
the  chief  scene,  you  know,  would  find  me  be- 
neath the  wedding  veil,  which  would  conceal 
everything. 

"  May  say  that  I  am  a  little  better  now,  and 
nothing  would  pull  me  together,  the  doctor  says, 
like  having  a  real  interest  in  life.  It  seems  to 
me  that  this  is  a  great  opportunity  for  you  to 
shine  in  your  art  and  do  a  good  deed,  too. 

"  Admiringly  yours, 

"C C ." 


Clara  Lipman's  Adventure 
«*  The  last  visit  I  made  to  Berlin  is  one  I  shall 
not  soon  forget.     I  had  been  out  shopping  not 
far  from  the  Continental  Hotel,  where  we  were 
stopping. 

"  While  I  was  unacquainted  with  the  streets,  I 
did  not  feel  timid;  but  as  I  left  the  shop  I 
quickened  my  steps,  and  was  soon  aware  that  I 
was  being  followed. 

"Evening  was  closing  in  when  I  heard  a 
voice  right  behind  me  say  : 

"  '  Excuse  me  ;  are  you  a  Spanish  lady  ?  ' 
"  I  looked  back  quickly  and  saw  that  my  in- 
terrogator was  Spanish  in   appearance,   and    I 
quickly  crossed  the  street. 

"  But  the  stranger  was  keeping  up  the  pace, 


100        "Wait  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

and  again  1  heard  :  '  Excuse  me ;  you  are  a 
Spanish  lady.' 

"  At  last  I  began  to  run,  when  the  man's  next 
exclamation  could  be  heard  at  my  flying  heels : 
'  Excuse  me ;  you  are  impolite  !  ' 

"  That  was  too  much  ;  I  stopped  and  laughed 
in  spite  of  my  fears.  But  on  looking  around  1 
found  that  my  tormentor  had  disappeared. 
Meanwhile  I  had  lost  my  bearings,  so  I  told  my 
troubles  to  a  gendarme  at  the  next  corner. 

"  *I  wish  to  go  to  the  Continental  Hotel,'  I 
said.     '  Can  you  tell  me  where  it  is  ?  ' 

"  '  Is  that  where  you  live  ?  '  said  iht gendarme. 

"  '  Yes,'  I  replied. 

"  '  Then  you  must  know  where  you  live.  I 
know  where  I  live.' 

"And  with  that  he  walked  on  as  if  our  con- 
versation was  finished. 

"  I  afterward  discovered  that  the  fellow  knew 
nothing  of  Berlin,  but  depended  upon  his  guide- 
book when  his  bluffs  would  not  work." 


Blanche  Bates  In  the  Balcony  Scene 
"  My  first   appearance  on  the  stage  was  the 
worst-remembered  in  my  mother's  stage  career. 
At  this  particular  time  she  was  playing  in  Aus- 
tralia, in  Shakespearian  plays. 

"  In  the  meantime  I  was  teething,  fretful  and 


"wait  anD  Ibumoc  of  tbe  Stage        loi 

unweaned,  and  was  having  a  little  scene  of  my 
own  in  the  dressing-room  with  the  nurse,  who 
could  not  quiet  me. 

'<The  stage  was  set  for  the  balcony  scene  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet.  Mother  was  sealed  upon  a 
box  on  the  balcony — hidden  from  the  'front' 
by  a  wall  of  trellised  vines — when  I  was  put  into 
her  arms.  The  audience  was  listening  breath- 
lessly to  Romeo's  impassioned  pleas,  which  came 
to  a  climax  in  tlie  most  unlooked-for  way.  The 
stage  carpenter  was  careless,  and  the  '  super ' 
who  stumbled  against  the  rail  was  awkward; 
the  front  of  the  balcony  collapsed  with  a  bang, 
and  Blanche  Bates  had  the  opportunity  to  re- 
ceive the  greatest  ovation  of  her  stage  career. 

"There  sat  the  fair,  shy  Juliet  with  her  baby 
at  her  breast,  and  poor  Romeo's  scene  was  cut 
short  by  the  howls  of  the  audience,  which  re- 
fused to  be  quieted  until  the  curtain  came 
down." 


One  Explanation 

"Why  don't  women  have  the  same  sense  of 
humor  that  men  possess?"  asked  Mr.  Torkins. 

"Perhaps,"  answered  his  wife  gently,  "it's 
because  we  don't  attend  the  same  theatres." 


102        mit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

Bore  the  Test  Well 
A  famous  dramatist  was  the  hero  of  one  of 
the  most  amusing  marriage-proposal  experiences 
on  record.  When,  as  a  young  man,  he  fell  in 
love  with  the  pretty  daughter  of  a  pastor,  he  was 
afraid  to  face  the  lady  and  so  wrote  her  a  letter. 
He  was  told  to  call  the  next  day  and  receive  his 
answer.  On  reaching  the  house  he  was  shown 
into  a  room  and  given  a  seat  on  the  sofa.  The 
servant  said  that  the  lady  would  soon  appear. 
He  sat  and  hung  around  in  that  room  for  fully  two 
hours,  often  tempted  to  leave  the  house  or  make 
a  break  for  further  information,  but  not  having 
the  courage  to  do  either.  At  last  he  could 
stand  it  no  longer  and  rushed  into  the  corridor, 
making  for  the  door  out  of  the  house.  Then  he 
heard  a  shout  of  clear,  silvery  laughter  in  the 
room  he  had  left.  He  hastened  back  and  saw 
the  face  of  his  sweetheart  peeping  out  from 
under  the  sofa,  convulsed  with  mirth.  "Do 
forgive  me,"  she  ejaculated  ;  "I  simply  wanted 
to  find  out  how  long  you  would  wait  for  me. 
You  have  borne  the  test  well.  Now  help  me  to 
my  feet." 

Gibbs  Was  Surprised 
Gibbs  was  an  actor  and  had  gone  on  a  tour 
of  near-by  towns.     A  few  days  afterward   the 


•watt  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        iu3 

Gibbs  household  was  increased  by  one — a  boy. 
As  the  mother  was  very  ill,  the  doctor  was  re- 
quested to  write  out  a  telegram  informing  Gibbs 
of  the  addition  to  his  family,  and  also  his  wife's 
illness,  and  asking  him  to  return  home  with  as 
little  delay  as  possible. 

This  was  done,  and  the  telegram  was  given  to 
the  servant  to  send  off.  That  intelligent  girl, 
being  unable  to  read,  put  the  message  in  her 
pocket  and  forgot  all  about  it.  The  next  day 
Gibbs  paid  a  flying  visit  home,  and  was  grati- 
fied to  find  his  wife  and  family  going  on  nicely. 
After  staying  home  a  few  hours,  he  took  his 
departure  without  anything  having  been  said 
about  the  telegram,  which  his  wife  naturally 
supposed  he  had  received, 

A  day  or  two  later  the  servant  found  the  mes- 
sage in  her  pocket,  and  she  decided  to  send  it 
off  at  once  without  saying  a  word  to  any  one 
about  the  delay.  That  night  Gibbs,  upon  re- 
turning to  his  hotel,  was  horrified  when  the  fol- 
lowing telegram,  bearing  that  day's  date,  was 
placed  in  his  hand : 

Another  addition,  a  son ;  your  wife  is  very  ill ; 
return  at  once. 

"Another!"  he  gasped.  "Great  Jupiter! 
impossible !  " 


104        "Oait  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

He  rushed  to  the  station  and  took  the  next 
train  home,  and  dashing  into  the  house  in  a 
state  of  frenzy  demanded  to  know  what  had  hap- 
pened. The  servant  confessed  all.  The  next 
day  there  was  a  vacancy  for  an  intelligent,  honest 
girl  at  Gibbs's  establishment. 


Frances  Ring  and  the  Jap 

*'  Once  upon  a  time  I  happened  to  be  in  a 
foreign  port  where  there  were  few  American 
women  and  many  foreign  battle-ships.  Nat- 
urally, under  these  conditions  I  had  many 
callers ;  also  two  admirers,  both  bearing  the  title 
of  baron,  one  French  and  the  other  Japanese. 

"Neither  one  of  the  lieutenant-barons  could 
speak  English  intelligently,  but  both  made  fear- 
ful plunges  into  conversation. 

"My  knowledge  of  French  was  limited  to 
what  one  sees  on  the  bill  of  fare,  and  my  under- 
standing of  Japanese  was  nil.  Both  officers 
carried  books  containing  English  and  foreign 
versions  of  conversation,  which  always  seemed 
to  me  like  the  game  of  cross  questions  and 
foolish  answers,  and  I  was  having  a  painful  time 
of  it  as  hostess  until  my  guests  began  to  question 
me. 

"  '  Do  you  like  to  step  ? '  began  the  French- 
man. 


TSUit  an&  ■fciimor  ot  tbe  Sta^e        los 

"  Thinking  he  meant  the  two-step,  I  nodded 
enthusiastically.  He  beamed  with  pleasure,  and 
then  asked : 

"'Tomorrow   morning,    mademoiselle,    will 

you  go  stepping  with  me?  ' 

"At  this  I  laughed  and  turned  to  my  Japa- 
nese visitor,  who  had  been  waiting  his  opportu- 
nity to  shine. 

•*  He  weighed  every  word  carefully,  and  in  a 
most  dignified  way,  as  if  it  was  a  matter  of  grave 
concern,  he  asked  :  '  How  many  ages  did  you 
are?'" 

He  Found  Out 
A  man  who  was  new  in  the  managerial  busi- 
ness advanced  to  a  young  actress  one  thousand 
dollars,  ostensibly  for  costumes  for  a  society 
play.  When  he  asked  her  to  furnish  an  item- 
ized bill  all  the  items  that  she  could  produce 
were  fifty  dollars  for  a  silk  petticoat  and  one 
hundred  dollars  for  silk  stockings. 

"  What  am  I  paying  the  rest  of  that  money 
for?"  asked  the  manager. 

"Experience,"  replied  the  actress. 

Sarah  Vindicated 
The  Senior  Dramatics  at  Smith  College  were 
made  notable  one  spring  by  the  good  work  of  a 


106        "Wait  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Staoe 

Miss  Karns  as  Hamlet.  The  night  watchman 
about  the  buildings,  who  has  been  there  for 
years,  was  most  enthusiastic  in  his  endorsement. 
It  is  a  pity  Sarah  Bernhardt  could  not  have 
heard  his  opinion  as  to  the  propriety  of  a  woman 
appearing  as  the  melancholy  Dane. 

"  I  seen  Booth,"  said  the  old  man.  "  I  seen 
him  twice ;  but  Miss  Karns,  she  was  fine.  I 
always  thought  'Amlet  ought  to  be  played  by  a 
girl,  he  bein'  delicate." 

In  the  Blood 

Miss  MacDonald  in  private  life  is  the  wife  of 
Joseph  Jefferson's  son.  Unlike  many  actors  of 
prominence,  the  dean  of  the  American  stage  is 
far  from  averse  to  his  children  and  grandchil- 
dren marrying  in  the  theatrical  profession.  The 
story  is  told  that  when  the  marriage  of  one  of 
Jefferson's  sons  to  a  ballet  girl  was  announced, 
some  busybody  said  to  the  comedian  :  "  Mr. 
Jefferson,  it  must  have  been  a  great  shock  to  you 
when  your  son  married  a  ballet  girl." 

"  Why  shouldn't  he  marry  a  ballet  girl  if  he 
desired  ?  "  asked  the  comedian,  "  His  mother 
was  one." 

Black  Critics 
Hopkinson  Smith  tells  a  characteristic  story 


THnit  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        107 

of  a  Southern  friend  of  his,  an  actor,  who,  by 
the  way,  was  in  the  dramatization  of  Colonel 
Carter.  On  one  occasion  the  actor  was  ap- 
pearing in  his  native  town,  and  remembered  an 
old  negro  and  his  wife,  who  had  been  body 
servant  in  his  father's  household,  with  a  couple 
of  seats  in  the  theatre.  As  it  happened,  he  was 
playing  the  part  of  the  villain,  and  was  largely 
concerned  with  treasons,  stratagems  and  spoils. 
From  time  to  time  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
ancient  couple  in  the  gallery,  and  judged  from 
their  fearsome  countenance  and  popping  eyes 
that  they  were  being  duly  impressed. 

After  the  play  he  asked  them  to  come  and  see 
him  behind  the  scenes.  They  sat  together  for  a 
while  in  solemn  silence,  and  then  the  mammy 
resolutely  nudged  her  husband.  The  old  man 
gathered  himself  together  with  an  effort,  and 
said:  "  Marse  Cha'les,  mebbe  it  ain'  for  us 
po'  niggers  to  teach  ouh  young  masser  'port- 
ment.  But  we  jes'  got  tell  yo'  dat,  in  all  de 
time  we  b'long  to  de  fambly,  none  o'  ouh  folks 
ain'  neveh  befo'  mix  up  in  sechlike  dealin's,  an' 
we  hope,  Marse  Cha'les,  dat  yo'  see  de  erroh  of 
yo'  ways  befo'  yo'  done  sho  'nuff  disgrace  us." 

Woman  First,  Then  Queen 
In   Belasco's  Adrea,  a   masterpiece   of  dra- 


108        TKUlt  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

raatic  horror  and  undiluted  gloom,  one  single 
moment  of  cheer  obtrudes  itself,  visible  only, 
however,  to  some  observant  occupant  of  a  front- 
row  seat  on  the  extreme  side.  It  occurs  in  the 
coronation  scene  of  the  third  act.  Adrea  (Mrs. 
Leslie  Carter)  is  about  to  receive  the  crown 
from  the  chief  Senator,  whose  portly  person  is 
planted  directly  between  his  Queen  and  the  au- 
dience. At  the  moment  that  one  senatorial  hand 
places  the  tiara  on  .A.drea'shead,  the  other  draws 
back  a  fold  of  the  senatorial  toga  from  the  sena- 
torial chest,  revealing  thereon  a  distinctly  un- 
Roman  mirror,  into  which  Queen  Adrea  casts  a 
hasty,  yet  comprehensive,  glance — and  her  reign 
begins  with  her  crown  on  straight. 


"  Oh,  You  Coward!  " 

Miss  Millie  Hylton,  the  vaudeville  actress, 
tells  a  good  story  of  an  incident  which  occurred 
when  she  was  touring  in  Holland  some  time  ago. 
In  the  company  in  which  she  was  playing  there 
was  a  well-known  lion  tamer  who  had  a  terma- 
gant of  a  wife  and  at  every  rehearsal  the  ill-as- 
sorted couple  were  quarreling  bitterly.  One 
night  matters  came  to  a  crisis. 

The  lion  tamer  had  just  finished  his  perform- 
ance and  was  bowing  himself  off  the  stage  amid 
the  plaudits  of  the  audience,  when  his  wife  made 


•wait  anJ)  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage        io» 

a  grab  at  Iiim  and  began  to  belabor  him  soundly. 
The  poor  fellow  stood  it  as  long  as  he  could 
then  suddenly  he  broke  from  her  grasp  and 
flying  toward  the  cage  of  his  fiercest  lion,  he 
opened  the  door  and  popped  in.  For  some  time 
the  virago  stood  and  taunted  him  in  a  vain  en- 
deavor to  induce  him  to  come  out,  but  the  lion 
tamer  was  not  to  be  moved.  At  last,  after  she 
had  exhausted  every  possible  epithet,  she  put 
her  face  close  to  the  bars  and  hissed  out,  "  Oh, 
you  coward  !  " 


Sparring  For  Time 

"  Will  you  take  me  to  the  theatre  to-night?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  want  to  go." 

"  I  wouldn't  go  unless  you  really  wanted  to 
go." 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  if  you  want " 

"But  I  wouldn't  think  of  taking  you  unless 
you  wanted  to  see  the  play." 

"  And  I  will  not  go  unless  you  want  to  go." 

"  But  you  are  the  one  to  say  whether  you 
want  to  go." 

"  Of  course,  I  see  that  you  do  not  want  to  go, 
and  in  that  case  we  will  stay  at " 

"  I  do  want  to  go,  though,  if  you  want  to  go." 

"  Then,  of  course,  yon  won't  say  whether  you 


no        Tldlt  anJ)  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

want  to  take  me,  so  I  suppose  we  shall  stay  at 
home." 

"  On  the  contrary,  if  you  want  to  go,  we  go. 
If  you  don't  want  to  go,  we  don't  go.  Now 
what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  if  you  want  to  go  with  me  I  want 
to  go." 

About  this  time  he  looked  at  his  watch  and 
found  that  they  could  not  possibly  reach  the 
theatre  before  the  beginning  of  the  third  act. 


Oh,  Those  Mothers  ! 

"  I  once  had  a  well-known  star  on  the  road 
in  a  play  that  simply  would  not  catch  on,"  says 
Mr.  Frohman. 

"  Business  had  been  bad  for  weeks  and  I  had 
been  losing  money  steadily.  Finally  we  reached 
Boston  where  the  hoodoo  still  pursued  us.  At 
a  matinee  there,  the  mother  of  the  star,  who 
happened  to  be  living  in  Boston,  came  out  front 
with  tears  in  her  eyes  and  said  to  me : 

"  'Please  go  back  and  console  John.  He  is 
not  getting  any  applause  and  is  feeling  pretty 
blue.' 

"  As  I  thought  of  the  fat  salary  that  John  had 
been  drawing  with  great  regularity,  and  my 
own    losses,    I   replied,  with   some  animation : 


Timit  anO  Dumor  of  tbc  Stage        ill 

'  Good    heavens,  madam,  isn't   he   getting   his 
salary  ?     Who  is  to  console  me  ?  '  " 

A  Gold  Brick's  Joke 
Preliminary  arrangements  between  playwrights 
and  managers  sometimes  supply  surprising  facts, 
looked  at  from  the  after-production  period. 

About  two  years  ago  a  certain  New  York 
novelist  wrote  a  play  containing  one  striking 
and  very  powerful  scene.  He  put  it  into  the 
hands  of  an  agent  to  dispose  of,  but  getting  tired 
of  waiting  to  hear  from  this  individual,  he  de- 
cided to  see  what  he  could  do  himself  toward 
marketing  it. 

Meeting  Blanche  Walsh,  he  got  her  interested 
in  the  thing  to  the  extent  of  planking  down 
$500  for  an  option.  Highly  elated,  he  went  to 
tlie  telephone  and  called  up  his  agent, 

"Never  mind  about  that  play  of  mine,"  he 
said.     "  Blanche  Walsh  wants  it." 

"Great  Scott!"  exclaimed  the  agent.  "I 
was  just  ringing  you  up  to  tell  you  that  I  have 
sold  the  option  to  Mrs.  Fiske." 

"  Gee,  I've  got  a  winner  for  fair,"  the  play- 
wright told  himself. 

Then  he  proceeded  to  straighten  out  the 
tangle,  and  here  circumstances  played  into  his 
hands  with  delightful  smoothness. 


112        mit  anO  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Staee 

Miss  Walsh  found  a  big  success  in  Resur- 
rection, so  let  her  $500  go  with  little  regret. 
Mrs.  Fiske  went  so  far  as  to  announce  the  new 
piece  and  then  made  her  ten-strike  with  Leah 
Kleschna.  In  the  end  she  too  paid  over  her 
option  money,  and  the  play  was  finally  brought 
out  by  another  manager  and  under  a  different 
name,  without  a  star,  and  failed  promptly,  going 
to  the  storage-house  after  a  fortnight's  run. 

But  the  author,  nevertheless,  made  $1,500  out 
of  it,  taken  from  the  pockets  of  the  two  actresses 
who  are  now,  no  doubt,  congratulating  them- 
selves that  they  got  off  so  cheaply. 


A  Costly  Promise 
An  amusing  little  story  is  told  of  Lillah 
McCarthy,  the  well-known  actress  and  wife  of 
Granville  Barker.  When  she  was  ten  years  old 
her  father,  wishing  to  train  her  memory,  bribed 
her  with  a  sovereign  to  learn  the  second  book 
of  "  Paradise  Lost."  So  rapidly  did  she  com- 
mit the  words  to  memory  that  he  again  offered 
her  ten  shillings  to  learn  "Romeo  and  Juliet," 
which  was  no  light  undertaking.  Success  again 
followed,  and  he  repeated  the  offer  with  "  Mac- 
beth." So  quickly  did  Miss  Lillah  rattle  off 
the  lines  that  her  father  remarked:    "  It  is  be- 


imit  anC>  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stafle        ii3 

coming  rather  expensive.     Next  time  you  shall 
have  sixpence." 

Lassoed  the  Compliment 

There  must  be  times  when  actors  are  put  in 
the  embarrassing  position  of  hearing  their  work 
discussed  in  pubhc  places  by  people  who  have 
seen  the  performance  and  are  not  aware  that  any 
of  those  who  have  taken  part  in  it  are  within 
ear-shot.  And  sometimes,  when  there  is  a  wag 
in  the  party,  there  are  real  dramatic  moments  in 
such  episodes.  Here  is  a  case  in  point  that 
happened  in  New  York  not  so  very  long  ago. 

A  party  of  men  were  descending  in  the  ele- 
vator on  their  way  to  lunch  in  one  of  New  York's 
tallest  sky-scrapers.  The  car  stopped  at  a  floor 
and  a  lady  got  on.  The  wag  in  the  group  of 
men  instantly  recognized  her  as  Louise  Morewin, 
who  plays  the  mother-in-law  in  The  Heir  to  the 
Hoorah,  which  he  had  seen  a  few  nights  before. 

The  car  was  pretty  well  crowded  and  the  wag 
_was  so  placed  that  in  the  mirror  he  could  see 
Miss  Morewin's  face  without  being  seen  himself. 
And  the  spirit  of  mischief  entered  his  soul. 

"Say,  fellows,"  he  began,  "you  have  all 
seen  The  Heir  to  the  Hoorah ;  what  do  you 
think  of  the  mother-in-law  ?  " 

One  and  another  expressed  an  opinion,  more 


114        •watt  anJ)  Ibumoc  ot  tbe  Stage 

or  less  non-committal  so  far  as  the  playing  of 
the  part  was  concerned.  But  this  did  not  satisfy 
the  wag.  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  build- 
ing is  very  tall  and  that  it  requires  some  minutes 
for  the  elevator  to  reach  the  ground  floor,  bo 
after  the  other  comments  had  been  gathered  in, 
there  was  still  time  for  a  snapper. 

"Well,"  he  remarked,  "I  saw  the  play  the 
other  night,  and  I  think  the  actress  who  plays 
the  mother-in-law  is " 

He  inserted  a  pause  for  impressiveness  and 
Miss  Morewin  could  stand  no  more.  Stepping 
around  so  that  she  faced  him,  she  broke  out 
with  : 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  her  ?  " 

"I  think  she  is  immense,"  finished  the  wag, 
utterly  unruffled,  while  his  friends,  who  had 
failed  to  recognize  their  fellow  passenger,  stood 
with  jaws  dropped  at  the  spectacle  of  the  strange 
woman  butting  into  their  conversation. 

As  for  Miss  Morewin,  she  smiled,  flushed  a 
little  and  when  the  car  reached  the  street  level, 
she  hastily  mingled  with  the  throng  and  was  lost 
to  sight. 

A  Transaction  in  Snow 

One  evening  during  the  second  month's  run 
of  The  Girl  of  the  Golden  West,  the  telephone 


Mit  an&  "ttjumoc  ot  tbe  Stage        ii6 

bell  rang  in  its  niche  beside  the  coat-room. 
Campbell,  the  Belasco  general  factotum,  an- 
swered the  call  and  then  stepped  up  to  Mr. 
Belasco,  who  was  chatting  with  some  friends  at 
the  easterly  end  of  the  lobby. 

"Mrs.  DeMille  wishes  to  speak  to  you,"  he 
said. 

**  Can't  see  her  ;  too  busy  ;  can't  possibly  ar- 
range it  to-night,"  replied  Mr.  Belasco,  who  is 
probably  the  most  pestered  manager  in  town. 

"But  she  isn't  here,"  Campbell  reassured 
him.  "  She  is  only  on  the  'phone,  and  wants 
to  know  if  you  can  let  her  have  a  pail  of 
snow." 

"A  pail  of  snow  !  "  gasped  Belasco,  his  gaze 
wandering  out  through  the  glass  doors  to  the 
street  which  had  not  once  been  whitened  since 
the  March  before. 

"  Where  under  the  sun  can  I  get  any  snow 
for  her  and  what  does  she  want  it  for  ?  " 

"  To  use  in  those  special  matinees  she  is  going 
to  give  at  the  Hudson  next  week,  and  she  wants 
to  borrow  it  from  our  blizzard  scene  in  the  sec- 
ond act." 

"Oh!"  And  Belasco's  priest-like  counte- 
nance relaxed  into  a  smile,  as  he  gave  permission 
to  hand  over  the  requisite  amount  of  paper — not 
in  passes. 


116        "^it  anD  Dumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

Advice 

Father  (angrily)  :  "If  my  son  marries  that 
actress  I  shall  cut  him  off  absolutely,  and  you 
can  tell  him  so." 

Legal  Adviser:  "I  know  a  better  plan  than 
that— tell  the  girl." 

A  Press  Agent's  Vigil 

Adele  Ritchie,  who  brings  The  Social  Whirl 
to  a  conclusion  at  every  performance  by  leaping 
on  horseback  over  a  hedge  to  the  centre  of  the 
stage,  is  not  particularly  overjoyetl  at  this  addi- 
tion to  the  usual  duties  of  a  leading  lady. 

She  was  speaking  of  the  matter  one  day  to 
Channing  Pollock. 

"That  jump,  even  on  my  own  horse,  is  be- 
ginning to  wear  on  my  nerves,"  she  said.  "  It's 
really  very  hard  on  me." 

"  Not  any  harder  than  it  is  on  me,"  responded 
Mr.  Pollock. 

"  On  you?  "  exclaimed  Miss  Ritchie.  "  Why, 
how  can  it  affect  you  ?  " 

"  In  this  way :  where  formerly  I  could  go 
home  at  ten  o'clock,  I  now  have  to  stay  down- 
town till  after  eleven." 

"Well,  of  course,  if  you  enjoy  coming  to 
watch  me  make  the  leap  every  night,"  smiled 
the  actress,  "  I  am  sure " 


•Wflit  anD  Ibumoc  of  tbc  Stage        in 

"Not  at  all,"  broke  in  Pollock.  "I  come 
from  a  pure  sense  of  duty.  In  case  you  break 
your  neck,  it  will  be  up  to  me  to  write  tlie  report 
for  the  papers.  Don't  you  see  now  where  the 
shoe  pinches  ?  " 


A  Way  Out  of  It 

A  company  of  select  colored  artists  were 
rendering  a  version  of  Othello.  The  scene  be- 
tween the  Moor  and  Desdemona  had  been 
reached  wherein  Othello  demands  the  handker- 
chief which  he  has  given  his  wife  as  a  wedding 
amulet.  The  actor  who  had  been  entrusted 
with  the  title  role  confused  vociferousness  with 
impressiveness. 

"  Desdemona  I  "  he  cried,  "fetch  me  dat 
han'kerchief !  " 

But  the  doomed  lady  only  babbled  of  Cassio, 
and  her  liege  shouted  again  : 

"  I  ask  you  fo'  de  second  time  to  git  me  dat 
han'kerchief" 

Still  the  fair  one  parried  the  issue  with  talk 
of  Cassio,  and  the  lordly  Othello,  now  thor- 
oughly incensed,  bellowed  : 

"Woman,  fo'  de  third  and  las'  time  I  tell  you 
to  git  me  dat  han'kerchief  !     Away  !  " 

And  as  he  was  just  about  to  open  his  mouth 


118        iMit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

again   a  big,  leather-lunged   patron   in  the  top 
gallery  shouted  down  at  him  : 

"  Fo'  de  Lawd's  sake,  nigger,  why  doan  yo' 
wipe  yo'  nose  on  yo'  sleeve  an'  let  de  show 
go  on?" 

A  Domestic  Freak 

A  husband  and  wife  ran  a  freak  show  in  a 
certain  provincial  town,  but  unfortunately  they 
quarreled,  and  the  exhibits  were  equally  divided 
between  them.  The  wife  decided  to  continue 
business  as  an  exhibitor  at  the  old  address,  but 
the  husband  went  on  a  tour. 

After  some  years'  wandering  the  prodigal  re- 
turned, and  a  reconciliation  took  place,  as  the 
result  of  which  they  became  business  partners 
once  more.  A  few  mornings  afterward  the  peo- 
ple of  the  neighborhood  were  sent  into  fits  of 
laughter  on  reading  the  following  notice  in  the 
papers : 

"  By  the  return  of  my  husband,  my  stock  of 
freaks  has  been  permanently  increased." 


Couldn't  Tire  Them 

Beatrice  Herford,  the  monologist,  relates  how 

once,  when  she  was  giving  her  entertainment  at 

a  private  house,  and  had  done  all  she  agreed  to 

do,  in  fact  had  added  an  extra  sketch  as  an  en- 


TKHit  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        119 

core,  one  of  the  guests  came  up  to  her  and  in  a 
casual  way  said  : 

"Oh,  why  don't  you  do  some  more?  Please 
do  !     You  know  we  are  not  a  bit  tired." 

Marie  Tempest  and  the  Landlady 
Marie  Tempest  tells  this  tale  of  an  early  ex- 
perience with  a  landlady  : 

"I  was  stopping  at  a  lodging-house  in  Lon- 
don, which  exactly  suited  my  means  at  that  time 
and  was  passably  comfortable.  The  old  land- 
lady, however,  would  insist  on  giving  me  steak 
and  onions  for  breakfast  every  morning.  I  pro- 
tested; but  it  was  of  no  use,  so  when  I  went 
away  I  took  her  family  Bible  and  placed  a  piece 
of  paper  in  it  with  '  Read  Hebrews  13:8' 
written  on  it.  I  hope  she  did  ;  for  the  passage 
runs,  '  The  same  yesterday,  and  to-day,  and  for- 
ever.' " 


Couldn't  Forget  She  Was  a  Lady 
William  Seymour,  Charles  Frohman's  stage- 
manager,  tells  this  story  of  an  aspirant  to  the 
boards  : 

"  This  young  lady  had  a  certain  amount  of 
influence,  and  so  was  cast  for  a  little  character 
part.  She  rehearsed,  and  proved  satisfactory. 
The  piece  had  its  initiation   at   Williamsburg. 


120        "Watt  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

Going  over  on  the  ferry  the  morning  of  the  day 
the  piece  was  to  be  produced,  I  was  told  a 
young  man  wished  to  see  me.  He  handed  me 
a  note,  which  ran  somewhat  after  this  fashion  : 

"'Dear  Mr.  Seymour: — On  consideration 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have  decided  to  throw 
up  my  part.  I  was  born  a  lady,  educated  and 
brought  up  as  a  lady,  and  I  really  cannot  bring 
myself  to  appear  before  the  American  public 
except  in  the  character  of  a  lady.' 

"  Later  on  I  believe  by  some  means  or  other 
she  did  get  a  lady's  part  with  another  company, 
and  was  a  total  failure." 


An  Open  Congratulation 

W.  S.  Gilbert  does  not  retain  all  of  his  humor 
for  use  in  his  librettos. 

In  the  early  days  of  his  success,  when  Gilbert 
and  Sullivan  were  considered  by  managers  as 
the  "  sure  winners  "  in  the  comic-opera  field,  a 
young  woman  who  was  a  member  of  one  of  the 
Pinafore  companies  wrote  to  Gilbert  telling  him 
of  her  approaching  marriage  with  a  young  man 
of  good  position  and  family. 

Gilbert  congratulated  the  young  woman,  and 
expressed  the  hope  that  her  future  might  be 
prosperous  and  happy. 

Only  a  little  more  than  a  month  passed,  and 


"wait  anO  Ibumoc  ot  tbe  Stage        121 

another  letter  from  the  same  girl  reached  him, 
in  which  she  stated  that  her  engagement  with 
the  young  man  had  been  broken,  and  that  she 
had  accepted  another  suitor. 

He  replied  that  he  had  every  confidence  in 
her  judgment,  and  again  expressed  his  hearty 
wishes  for  her  welfare. 

It  was  almost  two  months  after  that  Gilbert 
received  a  third  letter  from  the  same  girl,  who 
informed  hini  that  young  Lore had  pro- 
posed and  that  she  had  accepted  him,  after 
breaking  her  engagement  with  No.  2. 

Gilbert's  humor  could  no  longer  withstand 
the  temptation,  and  he  wrote,  "  I  desire  to 
congratulate  you  on  your  approaching  marriage 

with " 

^  Here  he  placed  an  asterisk,  and  in  a  footnote 
added  :  "  Here  insert  the  name  of  the  happy 
man." 


One  on  George  Edwardes 
The  famous  theatrical  manager  tells  a  good 
story  illustrative  of  the  difficulties  with  which 
managers  have  to  contend.  "  I  was  once  nego- 
tiating with  a  lady,"  he  says,  "to  go  to  India 
as  prima  donna,  and  I  thought  I  would  ap- 
proach the  question  artfully.  We  were  nearly 
agreed,  the  difference  between  us  was  a  paltry 


122        imit  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Staac 

;^ioo  a  week — I  offered  her  ^loo  and  she  asked 
me  ;^2oo  a  week.  I  began  to  tell  of  the  glories 
of  India,  how  the  lady  would  win  the  hearts  of  all 
the  Princes,  of  Jams  and  Rams  and  Dams  and 
nabobs.  I  said,  'As  is  their  custom,  they'll 
send  you  ropes  of  pearls  to  tie  up  your  dresses, 
elephants  with  trunks  full  of  emeralds,  and  dia- 
monds enough  for  a  skirt ' — and  skirts  were 
skirts  in  those  days.  '  What  is  a  miserable 
hundred  a  week  by  the  side  of  that  ?  '  Well,  I 
thought  I  had  impressed  the  lady.  She  prom- 
ised to  think  it  over.  She  did.  Next  day  I  got 
a  note :  '  Dear  Mr.  Edwardes,  give  me  my 
terms,  and  you  can  keep  the  presents.'  " 


"  Hanky- Panky  Tricks  " 

Among  the  stories  told  by  Ellen  Terry  in  her 
book  are  several  about  the  late  William  Terriss. 
One  is  to  this  effect : 

Irving  never  could  be  angry  with  Terriss,  not 
even  when  he  came  to  rehearsal  full  of  absurd 
excuses.  One  day,  however,  he  was  so  late 
that  it  was  past  a  joke,  and  Irving  spoke  to  him 
sharply. 

"  I  think  you'll  be  sorry  you've  spoken  to  me 
like  this,  guv'nor,"  said  Terriss,  casting  down 
his  eyes. 

"Now,  no  hanky-panky  tricks,  Terriss." 


Mit  anC)  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        123 

"  Tricks,  guv'nor  !  I  think  you'll  regret 
having  said  that  when  you  hear  that  my  poor 
mother  passed  away  this  morning."  And  Ter- 
riss  wept. 

Irving  promptly  gave  him  the  day  off. 

A  few  weeks  later,  when  Terriss  and  I  were 
looking  through  the  curtain  at  the  audience, 
just  before  the  play  began,  he  said  to  me,  gaily, 
"  See  tliat  dear  old  woman  sitting  in  the  fourth 
row  of  the  stalls  ?  That's  my  dear  old  mother. " 
The  wretch  had  quite  forgotten  that  he  had 
killed  her  ! 


CHAPTER  IV 

Quips  and  Quirks 

For  ready  wit  in  an  emergency  the  actor  tribe 
cannot  be  beaten, — as  is  perhaps  natural,  and 
the  annals  of  the  stage,  past  and  present,  abound 
in  mot  and  repartee,  some  apocryphal,  others 
authentic.     Here  are  a  few,  both  new  and  old. 


Trying  it  on  the  Dog 

DeWolf  Hopper  is  famous  for  telling  excellent 
jokes  upon  himself.  Whenever  he  comes  to- 
ward a  group  of  friends  at  The  Lambs'  or  The 
Players'  and  wears  a  broad  smile,  they  under- 
stand that  some  new  absurd  thing  has  happened 
to  him,  and  that  they  are  to  be  permitted  to 
laugh  at  his  expense. 

"Hopper,"  said  a  friend  on  one  occasion, 
''  you  couldn't  tell  a  good  thing  if  you  got  the 
best  of  it.  I  don't  believe  you'd  see  a  joke 
that  wasn't  played  on  you." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  would;  yes,  I  would  !  "  pro- 
tested Mr.  Hopper.  "Why,  I  know  the  fun- 
niest thing  right  now  that  happened  to  me  that 


imtt  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage        125 

gave  nie  the  laugh  on  everybody  for  miles 
around." 

"Then  let's  hear  it,"  said  his  friend.  "All 
the  things  I  ever  heard  about  you  that  were 
jokes  were  jokes  either  happened  to  you  or  to 
somebody  who  belonged  to  you." 

"  No,  no,"  asserted  Mr.  Hopper;  "  this  didn't 
happen  to  me.  It  was  the  best  joke.  It  was 
the  funniest  thing  I've  ever  heard.  You  see  the 
joke  was  on  my  dog.     He  and  I " 

Mr.  Hopper  got  no  further. 


Satisfied 

The  Candid  Critic  (after  the  first  night  of  a 
new  West-end  play)  :  "I'm  sorry  to  have  to  say 
it,  old  chap,  but  there  isn't  one  good  situation 
in  the  whole  play." 

The  Leading  Comedian  :  "  Oh,  I  don't  know 
so  much.  I've  got  a  six  months'  contract  at  a 
hundred  and  fifty  a  week." 

And  that  situation  was  satisfactory  enough 
for  him. 


Joe  Weber's  Story 
"  Not  long  ago  in  Chicago  I  had  the  pleasure 
to  dine  with  several  prominent  lights  at  the  Col- 
lege Inn.      We  had  not  been  seated  long  when  a 
dapper  young  fellow  at  a  neighboring  table,  evi- 


126        ■mit  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

dently  dazzled  by  the  proximity  of  so  much 
fistic,  political,  and  theatrical  talent,  kept  turn- 
ing in  his  seat  and  butting  into  the  conversation. 

"  He  was  trying  his  best  to  impress  the  young 
women  with  him  with  the  idea  that  he  was  on 
most  familiar  terms  with  the  impressive  bunch 
at  the  next  table.  Addressing  me,  he  said  :  '  In 
my  father's  store — you  know  my  father's  store — 
he's  the  biggest  dealer  in  carpets,  rugs,  and  oil- 
cloths in  town  ' — etc.,  etc. 

"Four  or  five  times  he  catapulted  himself 
into  the  conversation  in  the  same  way,  always 
referring  to  his  father's  store  and  business.  He 
became  so  offensive  at  last  that  I  said  : 

*' '  If  your  father  is  such  a  big  dealer  in 
carpets  and  oilcloths,  he  should  have  lots  of 
linoleums.  Suppose  you  get  one  and  play  us  a 
tune.  That  would  be  more  entertaining  and 
pleasant  than  your  butting-in-con versation.' 

"  That  young  fellow  subsided  so  quickly  that 
his  girl  friends  had  to  revive  him  and  lead  him 
from  the  place." 

McConnell's  Ready  Wit 

Will  McConnell  was  an  actor  who  never  failed 

to  say  the  witty  thought  that  occurred  to  him 

even  when  it  might  not  please  people  with  whom 

it  was  good  policy  for  him  to  be  on  good  terms. 


imit  an£)  Ibumor  of  tbe  Staee        127 

He  certainly  had  cause  to  be  grateful  to  Charles 
Frohman  and  doubtless  was.  But  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  make  one  of  his  characteristic  jokes 
about  the  stock  company  of  the  Empire  Theatre, 
when  that  organization  was  Mr.  Frohman's  fa- 
vorite and  not  especially  profitable  enterprise. 

New  York  had  then  little  taste  for  stock  com- 
panies in  the  Broadway  playhouses.  But  Mr. 
Frohman  wanted  his  home  theatre  to  be  occupied 
by  his  own  company. 

He  engaged  the  most  expensive  actors  avail- 
able and  sought  everywhere  for  plays.  He 
found  it  more  profitable,  nevertheless,  to  keep 
his  company  playing  in  Chicago,  Buffalo,  and 
other  cities  where  a  New  York  name  was  a 
magnet. 

"  Why  does  Frohman  call  those  actors  the 
Empire  Stock  Company?"  asked  an  actor  one 
day  in  a  group  at  Browne's.  "  They're  rarely 
at  the  Empire  Theatre." 

"Ah,  that  may  be  true,"  McConnell  replied, 
"but  they  play  the  greater  part  of  every  season 
along  the  route  of  the  Empire  State  Express." 


"  Perhaps  " 
4  dashing  English  comedian  was  endeavor- 
ing to  dazzle  the  worldly  manager  of  a  North 
London  music-hall  by  the  alleged  magnificence 


128        imtt  auD  Ibumor  ot  the  Stage 

of  the  prospects  offered  by  his  forthcoming 
engagement  in  America. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
man  who  wants  his  hearers  to  believe  what  he  is 
extremely  doubtful  about  himself,  "I'm  to  have 
ten  thousand  dollars  per — per " 

"Per-haps,"  interrupted  the  worldly  manager. 


Paderewski's  Retort 

Paderewski  was  attending  an  evening  recep- 
tion, and  had  the  usual  crowd  of  adoring  ladies 
all  round  him.  One  insignificant  woman  after 
alienating  all  her  friends  by  snatching  a  three- 
minute  talk  with  him,  prepared  to  move  away. 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  stay,  madam,"  said 
Paderewski,  with  unmistakable  ennui  in  his 
voice.  "  You  are  the  only  lady  in  the  room 
to-night  who  has  not  asked  me  how  I  feel  when 
I  play." 


One  On  the  Players 

The  late  William  McConnell  was  walking 
down  Broadway  one  afternoon,  looking  rather 
disconsolate.  It  was  late  in  August,  when  the 
actors  were  looking  for  the  winter  engagements 
that  had  begun  to  look  elusive. 

"Come  down  to  The  Players'  to  dinner  with 


•wait  an&  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage        129 

me,"  said  a  friend  wlio  met  him.     "  You  look 
as  if  you'd  had  a  hard  day's  work." 

"I  have,"  the  manager  answered.  "  I  have 
been  working  all  day  with  actors,  and  I  want  to 
get  away  from  them.  Thai's  a  great  suggestion 
of  yours— The  Players'  !  That's  got  to  be  the 
one  club  in  New  York  where  you're  sure  to  meet 
no  actors." 

A  Kindness  to  the  Manager 

For  the  most  part,  in  spite  of  their  reputation, 
critics  are  both  painstaking  and  honest,  and  the 
more  reputable  papers  protect  them  from  intimi- 
dation. The  favorite  means  of  attempting  to 
influence  them  is  a  threat  to  withdraw  theatrical 
advertising,  which  means  a  loss  to  the  paper  of 
much  more  than  their  salary. 

One  of  the  most  powerful  of  the  managers 
some  years  ago  called  on  the  editor  of  a  great 
morning  paper,  the  critic  of  which  had  offended 
him,  and  intimated  that  he  could  do  him  a  great 
favor.  What  he  meant,  of  course,  was  to  dis- 
charge the  critic.     The  editor  smiled  and  said  : 

"  I  will  do  you  a  great  favor." 

"  You  mean  you  will  discharge  him  ?  "  the 
manager  asked,  delighted. 

"  I  mean,"  was  the  answer,  "  that  I  will  not 
tell  him  of  your  call.     We  are  all  of  us  human. 


130        mtt  anD  Ibumot  of  tbe  Stage 

and  he  might  become  biased  if  he  knew  how 
you  have  insulted  him,  and  us." 

It  was  only  the  other  day  that  the  critic  ever 
heard  of  this,  and  then  by  accident. 


Hawtrey's  Englishman 

Charles  Hawtrey,  who  made  such  a  success 
in  A  Message  From  Mars,  is  responsible  for 
this  story.  He  was  talking  with  a  friend  of  his 
the  other  day  about  peculiar  names  and  initials, 
when  he  quietly  observed  : 

"By  the  way,  I  have  a  friend  who  is  in  a 
most  unfortunate  position.  He  actually  has  no 
initials." 

"  No  initials  ?  "  queried  the  friend,  in  amaze- 
ment. "Why,  how  can  that  be?  Hasn't  he 
any  name  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Mr.  Hawtrey,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye;  "but,  you  see,  his  initials 
happen  to  be  H.  H.,  and,  being  an  English- 
man, he  always  drops  his  h's." 


Forgot  About  Broadway 
Wilton  Lackaye  tells  of  a  man  named  Brady, 
a  press-agent,  who  in  summer  precedes  a  circus, 
and  in  the  winter  goes  ahead  of  an  opera  com- 
pany. This  work  keeps  Brady  pretty  busy,  and 
he  is  obliged  to  travel  mostly  in  the  West.     Re- 


Tanit  auD  Ibumor  ot  tbc  Staflc        131 

cently,  however,  Brady  was  enabled  to  visit  his 
beloved  New  York,  the  place  of  his  birth.  He 
declaretl  that  it  was  "  like  a  glimpse  into  an- 
other world,"  so  long  had  he  been  absent. 

A  friend,  meeting  Brady  on  Broadway,  said  : 
"  Well,  old  man,  I  suppose  you're  glad  to  get 
back  to  New  York  once  more  ?  " 

"I'm  more  than  glad,"  responded  Brady, 
with  an  expansive  smile.  "  In  fact,  I've  been 
away  so  long  that  I  have  to  rehearse  to  cross 
Broadway." 


Bitten 

'*  I  was  traveling  in  Virginia  some  years 
ago,"  said  the  comedian,  "and  while  hurrying 
across  the  state  from  Norfolk  to  Rocky  Mount, 
a  town  on  the  main  line,  to  make  connections 
for  Charleston,  the  brakeman  poked  his  head 
in  at  the  car  door,  as  the  train  slowed  down,  to 
call  out  a  station. 

"  '  .\-hoss-ky ! '  said  he  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  '  A-hoss-ky  ?  '  I  asked. 

"  His  reply  was  instantaneous. 

"  *  A-whiskey,'  said  he. 

"  And  of  course  I  had  to  make  good." 


"  Strong-Arm  " 
One  summer  the  late  Will  McConnell  lived  at 


132        Mit  an&  Ibumoc  ot  tbc  Stage 

Larchmont  and  invited  a  guest  to  stay  all  night 
with  him. 

"  Got  a  little  box  up  there,"  he  said,  *'  about 
a  stone's  throw  from  the  water." 

When  they  arrived  at  the  house  the  water 
was  nowhere  visible. 

"  I  thought  this  place  was  a  stone's  throw 
from  the  water,"  remarked  the  friend. 

"  The  landlord  told  me  that  when  I  saw  him 
in  New  York  and  I  suppose  it's  true.  When  I 
asked  him  to  explain  what  he  meant,  he  said  the 
stone  was  a  pebble  and  that  Sandow  had  thrown 
it." 


Playwrights  and  Manager 
According  to  his  friends,  the  author  of  The 
Heir  to  the  Hoorah  has  never  yet  shown  the 
play -going  public  the  brightest  side  of  his  talent. 
At  a  dinner  of  playwrights  the  talk  turned  upon 
the  character  and  intelligence  of  tlieatrical  man- 
agers. Sydney  Rosenfeld  told  of  a  manager 
who  refused  to  put  on  The  Optimist  for  a  series 
of  ignorant  reasons,  ending  with  the  assertion 
that  the  name  alone  would  damn  it.  "  But  I'll 
bet  you  a  dollar,"  Mr.  Rosenfeld  cried,  "that 
you  don't  know  the  difference  between  an  opti- 
mist and  a  pessimist  !  "     "  It's  an  optimist  for 


THIllt  anJ>  f3umor  of  tbe  Stage        133 

the  eyes,"  said  the  manager,  "and  a  pessimist 
for  the  feet." 

Mr,  Armstrong  then  gave  an  account  of  a 
playwright  reading  his  piece  to  a  busy  manager. 
After  an  act  and  a  half  of  rudeness,  inattention 
and  bad  temper,  the  manager  said,  "  Come 
right  down  to  the  point ;  what's  the  big  scene, 
the  curtain  of  your  third  act  ?  "  By  a  progress 
of  self-hypnotism  the  playwright  had  managed 
to  keep  alive  his  enthusiasm.  "  The  hero  and 
the  villain  are  in  a  balloon  fighting  for  life. 
The  villain  grasps  the  gas  cord  and  opens  the 
throttle.  The  balloon  is  plunging  to  certain 
death  in  the  waters  of  the  Hudson.  As  it 
touches  the  surface,  along  comes  the  steam 
yacht  Arrow — twenty-three  miles  an  hour.  The 
bowsprit  gores  the  villain.  The  smoke-stack 
goes  biff!  in  the  gas  bag,  and  tosses  the  hero 
up  on  the  Riverside  Drive.     Saved  !  " 

The  manager  looked  wise.  "  Your  play  has 
distinguished  literary  quality,"  he  said,  "  but  it 
lacks  action." 


John  Hare  as  a  Horse 
John  Hare,  the  actor,  on  one  occasion,  sent 
his  coachman  to  one  of  the  London  theatres  to 
secure  stalls.     The  man,  who,  naturally,  knew 


134        TUflit  anD  •fcumor  of  tbe  Stage 

more  about  stables  than  things  theatrical,  re- 
turned much  excited. 

"  Well,  did  you  get  the  stalls  ?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Hare. 

"  No,  sir,"  was  the  answer,  "  the  stalls  were 
all  taken  up,  but  they  told  me  they  would  be 
pleased  to — to" — he  scratched  his  head,  and 
then  blurted  out — "  to  put  you  in  a  loose  box, 
sir  !  " 


Supers'  Pay 

Although  while  the  company  was  playing  in 
New  York  and  other  big  cities  much  was  made 
of  the  panic  scene  in  The  Pit,  the  episode  is 
left  out  in  the  smaller  towns  of  the  tour.  It  is 
altogether  too  expensive  to  carry  so  many  people 
for  ten  minutes'  use,  and  only  in  the  large  towns 
can  the  right  sort  of  supers  be  hired  for  the  per- 
formance. 

The  pay  is  fifty  cents  a  night,  but  in  some 
places  The  Pit  management  gave  them  only 
thirty-five.  On  each  occasion  the  men  protested 
and  threatened  to  strike,  but  they  always  gave  in 
at  the  last  minute — such  is  the  lure  of  the  stage, 
even  among  those  who  "only  stand  and  wait" 
to  carry  a  spear,  or  make  up  a  mob. 

Speaking  of  supernumeraries,  the  tale  is  told 
of  a  certain  super  captain,  one  who  was  once 


TKnit  anO  tjumor  ot  tbe  Stage        i35 

informed  in  the  course  of  a  long  run  that  here- 
after his  forces  would  enter  from  the  right  side 
of  the  stage  instead  of  the  left. 

"Great     Scott!"      he     exclaimed.     "That 
means  more  study  !  " 


A  Gargantuan  Thirst 

Charles  Frohman  once  took  Will  McConnell 
abroad  with  him  because  his  humor  was  so  spon- 
taneous and  unflagging,  and  there  was  always  a 
demand  for  his  society,  even  among  those  who 
knew  him  best  and  saw  him  most  frequently. 

For  the  last  fifteen  years  of  his  life  he  was  a 
strict  teetotaler.  In  his  early  days  a  too  excess- 
ive geniality  interfered  with  his  prosperity.  In 
this  way  he  successively  lost  control  of  three 
theatres  he  had  partly  owned. 

"I  should  think  you  would  find  it  hard  not  to 
drink,  thrown  with  the  people  you  meet,"  one 
of  his  friends  said  to  him  one  day. 

"It's  no  trouble  at  all  to  stop  drinking,"  he 
said,  "after  you've  drunk  up  three  theatres." 


Bargain  and  Sale 
The  actor's  amazing  idea  of  the  value  of  his 
services  has  afforded  many  amusing  incidents. 
An   actor  once  called   up  a  manager  who  was 
looking  for  a  leading  man. 


136        Mit  an&  D«mor  of  tbc  Stage 

"  How  much  salary  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  the 
manager. 

"  Four  hundred  a  week,"  replied  the  actor. 

"I  wanted  to  hire  you,  not  buy  you,"  an- 
swered the  manager,  and  rang  off. 

Speaking  of  price,  an  actor  on  one  occasion 
applied  to  a  manager  for  a  job  by  telegraph, 
whereupon  the  manager  wired  : 

"  Wouldn't  have  you  at  any  price." 

The  actor  replied  : 

♦'Terms  accepted.     Coming  on  next  train." 


Wilde's  Masterpiece 

A  typical  story  of  the  egotism  of  Oscar  Wilde 
has  to  do  with  a  rehearsal  of  his  comedy,  An 
Ideal  Husband,  in  the  Haymarket  Theatre, 
London.  Louis  Waller,  the  actor- manager,  who 
had  the  principal  part,  found  a  certain  exit  not 
to  his  liking,  and  insisted  it  should  be  changed. 
Accordingly,  he  despatched  messengers  to  find 
the  author,  who  was  discovered  in  a  little  pub- 
lic house  in  St.  James  Square,  discoursing  to  two 
half  intoxicated  cab-drivers.  It  was  with  dif- 
ficulty that  he  was  persuaded  to  return  to  the 
theatre. 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Waller?  "  he  asked. 

*'The  ending  of  the  last  act  will  not  do  at  all," 
declared  the  manager.      "  My  exit  is  very  poor 


"Watt  anD  Ibumor  of  tbc  Staec        137 

and  it  spoils  my  whole  part.     You  really  must 
alter  it." 

"Alter  it!"  exclaimed  Wilde,  <' alter  it! 
Heavens,  man  !  who  am  I  that  I  should  tamper 
with  a  masterpiece  ?  " 


Identified 

Now  that  James  J.  Corbett  has  taken  rank  as 
an  interpreter  of  Bernard  Shaw,  he  deprecates 
all  allusions  to  his  earlier  vocation.  It  is,  ac- 
cordingly, with  mingled  feelings  that  he  tells  the 
following  story : 

A  little  man  came  up  to  him  in  a  restaurant, 
and  shook  him  by  the  hand.  Mr.  Corbett  did 
not  recognize  him,  and  made  the  apology  that 
he  met  so  many  people. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  time  you  came  back 
from  Colorado?"  asked  the  little  man  ex- 
pectantly. 

As  that  was  the  occasion  on  which  he  went 
down  to  defeat  before  Fitzsimmons,  Mr.  Corbett 
admitted  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  forget  it. 

"And  when  the  train  reached  Jersey  City 
there  was  a  crowd  on  the  platform  to  see  you." 

Mr.  Corbett  confessed  that  he  remembered 
being  the  exhibit. 

"  Well,"  concluded  the  little  man  trium- 
phantly, "  I  was  the  feller  in  the  brown  hat." 


138        "Wfllt  ano  Ibumot  of  tbe  Stage 

Collier  Had  Enough 
Willie  Collier  tells  a  good  story  of  a  landlord 
in  a  small  Western  town  whose  accommodations 
and  fare  were  particularly  poor.  The  worthy 
man  said  he  always  liked  an  actor  guest  to  leave 
him  some  quotations  as  a  souvenir.  Collier 
agreed,  and  wrote:  "Quoth  the  raven — never 
more."  The  landlord  was  delighted,  and  Col- 
lier has  heard  that  he  still  continues  to  show  it 
with  pride  to  all  newcomers,  totally  unconscious 
of  the  deep  sarcasm  of  the  words. 


Romeo  and  the  Problem  Play 
One  of  the  most  persistent  and  conspicuous 
of  first-nighters  was  a  certain  lawyer  who  achieved 
notoriety  in  the  divorce  courts,  especially  as  pro- 
moter of  what  Harrison  Grey  Fiske  once  called 
the  theatrical  marry-go-round.  On  the  first 
night  of  the  Marlowe-Sothern  production  of  ^^^wif^ 
and  Juliet  he  was  on  hand  with  a  party  of  guests, 
and  made  manifest  his  knowledge  of  the  text  by 
repeating  the  most  familiar  passages  half  a  line 
ahead  of  the  actors,  in  a  nasal  and  rasping  voice, 
the  product  of  a  life  of  court-wrangling.  Thus 
while  Miss  Marlowe  was  saying,  with  the  utmost 
vocal  harmony,  "A  rose  by  any  other  name," 
he  would  be  whispering,  to  the  discomfiture  of 
those  who  sat  near,  "  would  smell  as  sweet." 


TKIltt  anO  t>umor  of  tbe  Stage         139 

Presently  one  of  his  party  said :  "  Do  they 
get  married?"  and  after  a  brief  hesitation  he 
answered:  "No."  Then  with  a  belief  in  mat- 
rimony apparently  unsullied,  he  added  :  **  You 
know  it's  a  tragedy."  During  the  scene  in 
Juliet's  room,  the  guest  exclaimed  :  "  My,  but 
ain't  it  an  awful  play  !  I'd  no  sooner  think  of 
taking  my  little  sister  to  see  it  than  I'd  think  of 
taking  her  to  Letty."  Such  is  the  fate  of 
Shakespeare  on  Broadway  ! 


The  Real  Sort 

A  certain  famous  actor  had  for  years  obtained 
his  wigs  from  a  well-known  maker.  He  always 
had  the  same  young  man  to  attend  to  him,  and 
liked  him  so  much  that  he  finally  engaged  him 
as  his  dresser.  One  day  the  actor  found  a  fine 
new  wig  on  his  dressing-table. 

"What's  this?"  he  inquired  of  his  dresser. 
"  I  ordered  no  new  wig.  I  meant  to  have  done 
so,  but  I  have  been  too  busy." 

"I  made  that  wig  for  you,  sir,"  replied  the 
dresser.  "Excuse  me,  sir,  but  your  old  one 
was  gettin*  'orribly  shabby." 

The  result  was  that  the  dresser  made  all  the 
player's  wigs  afterward,  and  the  costumer  began 
to  worry  about  the  loss  of  a  good  customer. 
He  dropped  into  the  theatre  one  afternoon  when 


14U        limit  aiiD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

the  dresser,  his  former  employee,  was  getting 
things  ia  shape  for  the  night's  performance. 

"Who's  making  Mr.  's  wigs  now?" 

asked  the  wig-maker,  with  a  slight  show  of 
asperity. 

•'  I  am,"  replied  the  dresser. 

"Humph!" — taking  a  new  wig  from  the 
dressing-table — "  and  is  this  a  specimen  of  your 
work?" 

The  young  man  admitted  that  it  was. 

"And  do  you  really  think,"  continued  the 
costumer,  holding  it  at  arm's  length,  "  that  this 
thing  looks  like  a  wig?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  don't !  "  retorted  the  dresser.  "  I 
think  it  looks  like  the  hair  of  the  human  head." 

When  Actors  Meet 

Tlie  courtesies  exchanged  by  actors  when  they 
meet  might  be  misconstrued  possibly  by  those 
unacquainted  with  the  odd  terms  of  compliment 
sometimes  employed  by  friends  in  the  profession. 

For  instance,  Nat  Goodwin  and  Jack  Mason, 
who  are  really  great  friends,  met  one  day  and 
addressed  each  other  as  follows  : 

Mr.  Goodwin:  "  Wild  ass  of  the  desert,  how 
passes  your  miserable  perishing  and  useless  life 
these  days?" 

Mr.  Mason  :    "  Creeping  thing  from  the  slime 


•wait  anC>  Ibumot  ot  tbe  StaQC        141 

of  the   sewer,    my  health   is   as  vigorous   and 
healthy  as  your  morals  are  feeble  and  tainted." 
And  each  went  on  his  separate  way  in  high 
good  humor. 

Every  One  Writes  Plays 

Says  a  well-known  press-agent: 

"At  the  office  the  other  morning  I  was  re- 
marking that  after  I  had  told  the  capitalist  that 
a  certain  friend  of  ours  was  writing  a  play,  he 
said : 

"  '  What's  the  use  of  telling  me  about  the 
people  who  are  writing  plays?  It  would  be 
much  easier  for  you  to  mention  the  man  who 
isn't.' 

"'Not  at  all,'  interposed  the  office  wit. 
'  That  would  be  the  hardest  job  yet,  for  such  a 
person  apparently  doesn't  exist.'  " 


John  Drew's  Barber 

John  Drew,  as  he  lunched,  talked  about  bar- 
bers. 

"They  are  so  uncomplimentary,"  he  said. 
"They  tell  you  such  unflattering  things. 

"  A  friend  of  mine  went  to  be  shaved  at  the 
Dark  Harbor  Hotel  one  day  last  summer,  and 
the  barber  said  to  him  : 

"  '  Your  hair  is  getting  thin,  sir.' 


142        iWit  mi)  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

"  '  Yes,'  my  friend  answered  tartly,  '  I  have 
been  treating  it  with  antifat.  I  never  did  like 
stout  hair.'  " 

A  Musical  Retort 

They  were  talking  of  the  strange  names  of 
many  of  the  interior  villages  of  Indiana  and 
John  McCutcheon  told  the  story  of  Wes  Burnett, 
who  played  in  the  orchestra  of  the  local  "opera 
house. ' ' 

Wes  played  the  trombone,  or  slip-horn  as  Kin 
Hubbard  insists  it  should  be  known.  Wes  sent 
up  to  Chicago  and  got  a  new  trombone.  He 
was  very  proud  of  it  and  went  to  the  village  tin- 
smith to  get  a  case  made  for  it. 

The  tinsmith  fixed  up  a  nobby  case  and 
painted  it  black.  Then  he  painted  on  it  in 
white  letters  :    "  Wes  Burnett." 

Wes  looked  it  over  and  insisted  that  the  name 
of  the  horn  should  be  put  on,  also,  and  when 
the  decorations  were  complete  the  legend  was : 
"  Wes  Burnett — Trombone." 

The  band  went  to  Lafayette  to  play  one  day, 
and  a  stranger  noticed  Wes's  case.  "Say, 
friend,"  said  the  stranger  to  Wes,  "why  don't 
you  finish  that?  " 

"  Finish  what  ?  "  asked  Wes. 

"That  address  on  your  horn  case." 


Timtt  anO  Dumoc  of  tbe  Stage        143 

"How?" 

"  Why,  put  on  '  Indiana,*  of  course." 


A  Triple  Stunt 
Mr.  Fred  Stone,  the  singing  comedian  of  the 
Red  Mill,  and  Mr.  Eugene  Wood  met  on  Broad- 
way recently.  They  stopped  for  a  moment  to 
exchange  a  few  cheerful  views,  when  a  woman 
in  a  particularly  noticeable  sheath-gown  passed. 
Simultaneously,  Wood  turned  to  Stone;  Stone 
turned  to  Wood  ;  then  both  turned  to  rubber. 

The  Unabashed  Nerve 
Some  actors  are  irrepressible.  A  member  of 
a  stock  company  that  had  a  woman  manager 
had  made  himself  very  disagreeable  and,  when 
the  time  came  to  renew  contracts  for  the  next 
season,  he  was  left  out.  To  the  manager's  sur- 
prise the  actor  showed  up  for  rehearsals  in  the 
fall.  She  wanted  to  break  the  news  to  him 
gently  that  he  was  not  wanted,  so  she  said :  "  I 
am  sorry  that  we  shall  not  be  together  this 
season."  It  did  not  phase  the  actor  a  bit,  for 
he  answered  :    "  Are  you  going  to  leave  us  ?  " 


Too  Much  for  the  Man-Eater 
A  well-known  theatrical  manager  repeats  an 
instance  of  what  the  late  W.  C.  Coup,  of  circus 


144        "wait  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

fame,  once  told  him  was  one  of  the  most  amus- 
ing features  of  the  show-business  j  the  faking  in 
the  "  side-show," 

Coup  was  the  owner  of  a  small  circus  that 
boasted  among  its  principal  attractions  a  man- 
eating  ape,  alleged  to  be  the  largest  in  captivity. 
This  ferocious  beast  was  exhibited  chained  to 
the  dead  trunk  of  a  tree  in  the  side-show.  Early 
in  the  day  of  the  first  performance  of  Coup's 
enterprise  at  a  certain  Ohio  town,  a  countryman 
handed  the  man-eating  ape  a  piece  of  tobacco, 
in  the  chewing  of  which  the  beast  evinced  the 
greatest  satisfaction. 

I'he  word  was  soon  passed  around  that  the 
ape  would  chew  tobacco  ;  and  the  result  was 
that  several  plugs  were  thrown  al  him.  Unhap- 
pily, however,  one  of  these  had  been  filled  with 
cayenne  pepper.  The  man-eating  ape  bit  it ; 
then,  howling  with  indignation,  snapped  the 
chain  that  bound  him  to  the  tree,  and  made 
straight  for  the  practical  joker  who  had  so 
cruelly  deceived  him. 

"  Lave  me  at  'im  !  "  yelled  the  ape.  '  "  Lave 
me  at  'im,  the  dirty  villain  !  I'll  have  the 
rube's  loife,  or  me  name  ain't  Magillicuddy  !  " 

Fortunately  for  the  countryman  and  for  Magil- 
licuddy, too,  the  man-eating  ape  was  restrained 
by  the  bystanders  in  time  to  prevent  a  killing. 


"Wflit  an&  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage        145 

The  Theatrical  Manager 
There  is  as  much  truth  as  poetry  in  the  fol- 
lowing lines  : 

The  man  who  stands  behind  the  blaze 

Is  he  who  gratifies  the  craze 

Of  high  society  to  pay 

To  worship  at  a  matinee. 

He  is  the  sun  round  which  one  learns 

The  "  stars  "  revolve  and  "  do  their  turns," 

The  sun  which  liolds  its  genial  rays 

From  ticket  speculating  ways. 

Ah,  friends,  how  happy  all  could  be 

Could  all  live  such  a  life  as  he ! 


Bier  or  Beer 

George  Marion  is  credited  with  the  following 
tale  : 

He  was  rehearsing  a  company  of  supers  in  a 
Shakespearian  play.  After  he  had  allotted  most 
of  them  to  their  several  i)laces,  he  said  : 

'•  Now,  at  this  place  the  corpse  is  brought  on. 
I  want  some  men  for  the  bier." 

Immediately  there  was  a  rush  forward,  and  it 
was  not  until  Marion  had  explained  that  he 
spelled  the  bier  with  an  I,  not  an  E,  that  calm 
was  restored. 


146        imtt  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbc  Stase 

The  Cheerful  Idiot 

"  What  part  am  I  cast  for  ?  "  asked  an  ambi- 
tious amateur  actor  of  the  club  manager. 

"  You  are  to  be  the  heroine's  father,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  What  does  he  do?  " 

"  He  dies  ten  years  before  the  curtain  rises 
on  the  first  act." 


A  Managerial  Foible 

Not  all  the  stories  told  to  illustrate  the  illiter- 
acy of  the  powers  that  be  in  the  theatre  are  true, 
but  this  one  comes  from  an  eye-witness,  and  a 
person  of  undoubted  veracity.  One  of  the  great 
managers  was  conducting  a  rehearsal.  All 
through  the  earlier  stages  of  the  preparation  one 
of  the  actresses  had  slurred  certain  words  in  her 
part,  excusing  herself  on  the  plea  that  she  could 
not  quite  make  them  out.  Now  she  turned  to 
him  and  repeated  the  apologies. 

"  Fads  and  f-o-i-b-l-e-s,"  she  read.  "  Do 
you  pronounce  it  fo-ibbles  ?  " 

The  manager  took  her  part  and  pored  over 
it.  "  It's  a  mistake  of  the  typewriter,"  he  ad- 
judicated, and  turning  to  his  stage-manager 
ordered  him  to  have  it  at  once  corrected  by  the 
author's  manuscript. 


miit  anO  t»umor  ot  tbc  Stage        147 

A  Few  Escaped 

Richard  Mansfield  was  once  seeing  London 
from  the  top  of  a  bus.  As  he  swung  along  the 
streets  he  asked  the  driver  to  point  out  the 
places  of  interest. 

"Right  you  are,  sir,"  agreed  the  driver, 
touching  his  hat.  "  There's  Luggit  '111,  where 
they  'ang  'em."  A  little  later,  "  There's  Parlia- 
ment 'Ouses,  where  they  make  the  laws  wot  does 
it  across  the  way.  An'  there's  Westminster 
Habbey,  where  they  buried  the  good  'uns  wot 
didn't  get  'anged." 

Draw  One 

"  What  do  you  think  !  "  exclaimed  the  the- 
atrical star,  proudly.  "  They  are  going  to 
name  a  new  cigar  after  me." 

"  Well,"  rejoined  the  manager,  "  here's  hop- 
ing it  will  draw  better  than  you  do." 

"  'Ave-a-New-Road  " 

Sir  Charles  Wyndham,  who  is  one  of  Eng- 
land's most  popular  actors,  once  perpetrated  a 
monumental  pun. 

A  distinguished  friend  was  walking  with  him 
toward  Regent's  Park.  "  I  wonder,"  he  said, 
**  why  they  call  this  Avenue  Road  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  you  know  ?  "  asked  Sir  Charles, 


148        "mit  auD  "ttjumor  of  tbe  Stage 

in  seeming  surprise.  "  It  was  the  expression  of 
the  man  who  made  it." 

"  How  was  that  ?  "  inquired  the  friend. 

"He  said,  'Want  a  new  road  'ere?  Well, 
*ave-a-new-road  'ere  ! '  So  they  called  it  'Ave- 
a-new-Road.     Nothing  simpler." 

Wedding  Encores 

In  a  speech  before  the  Wellesley  Club  re- 
cently, Augustus  Thomas  told  this  story  about 
Nat  Goodwin  : 

"  Say,  Nat,"  said  Willie  Collier  to  Mr.  Good- 
win as  they  were  comuig  out  of  the  Lambs' 
Club  shortly  after  the  latter's  marriage  to  Miss 
Goodrich,  "  invite  me  to  one  of  your  weddings 
some  time,  won't  you  ?  " 


One  On  a  Deadhead 

Of  all  nuisances,  the  greatest  to  an  actor  is  a 
would-be  deadhead.  Willie  Collier  tells  how  he 
got  the  best  of  one  of  them. 

"  I  received  a  postal  card  from  a  man  I  didn't 
know  from  Adam,  who  said  he  had  met  me  in 
California.  He  wished  to  renew  the  acquaint- 
ance, and  maybe  I  would  send  him  two  tickets 
for  the  following  Wednesday  night.  Oh,  yes,  I 
answered  it  on  a  postal  card,  too  !  I  merely 
wrote,  '  Maybe  I  wouldn't !  '  " 


TlCllt  anD  131111101  of  tbe  Stage        i49 

Hungry  Thespians 

They  looked  like  actors,  or  rather  they  looked 
as  if  they  would  have  been  actors  if  some  mana- 
ger with  more  than  the  usual  discernment  would 
recognize  their  ability  and  give  them  a  job.  Just 
now  they  were  staring  through  the  window  of  a 
popular- priced  restaurant  in  Congress  Street, 
Portland,  absorbed  in  the  unerring  accuracy  of 
the  chef  as  the  griddle  cakes  were  flipped  into 
the  air  by  him,  only  to  fall  gracefully  back  into 
the  grease  mark  they  had  just  quitted.  The  tall 
man  jingled  some  keys  in  his  pocket  and  the  lit- 
tle one  pulled  his  belt  another  notch. 

"Lord!"  said  the  big  one;  "I'm  hungry 
enough  to  eat  my  own  words." 

"I'm  just  as  bad,"  complained  the  little  one. 
"  I  feel  as  though  I  could  bolt  a  front  door." 


To  Make  It  Fit  the  Crime 

George  Grossmith,  "Gee  Gee,"  the  popular 
English  entertainer  and  creator  of  the  principal 
leading  funny  characters  in  Gilbert  and  Sulli- 
van's operas,  says  that  when  Sullivan  was 
knighted  some  one  asked  him  why  he,  and  not 
his  collaborator,  W.  S.  Gilbert,  was  chosen  for 
this  honor. 

"I   don't  exactly  know,"  said   Sir  Arthur; 


150        mtt  anO  Dumor  of  tbe  Stage 

"but  I  suppose  her  Majesty  did  it  to  make  the 
punishment  fit  the  crime." 

"  Brother  Artists  " 

Mr.  George  Scott,  the  well-known  theatrical 
manager,  was  a  splendid  story-teller.  One  of 
the  best  anecdotes  relating  to  himself  is  associated 
with  a  tour,  during  which  he  visited  Leicester. 
One  evening,  when  he  was  in  "front"  of  the 
house,  two  seedy-looking  individuals  came  for- 
ward and  asked  to  be  admitted. 

"We  want  two  passes,"  said  the  spokesman. 

"Are  you  connected  with  the  profession ? " 
asked  Mr.  Scott. 

"  Of  course,"  was  the  reply.  "  We  are  run- 
ning a  Punch  and  Judy  show  round  the  corner, 
and  you  have  taken  all  our  customers." 

"Pass  two  brother-artists,"  said  Mr.  Scott, 
with  a  smile,  to  the  doorkeeper. 

Valuable  Ideas 

Two  ambitious  young  writers  in  New  York 
heard  that  a  well-known  vaudeville  artist  needed 
a  new  sketch  and  went  to  see  him  about  it. 

They  found  him  at  the  theatre  and  explained 
their  errand. 

"Sure,"  said  the  variety  star,  "I  want  anew 
sketch  and  you  can  write  it." 


Mit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        I6i 

"How  about  the  money?  "  asked  one  of  the 
writers. 

"Oh,"  said  the  variety  star,  "it  is  this  way 
with  all  my  sketches :  When  the  writers  furnish 
the  idea  I  give  them  a  royalty,  but  when  I  give 
the  idea  I  pay  one  hundred  and  twenty-five 
dollars  flat  and  own  the  sketch.  Now,  I  want 
this  sketch  for  six  girls  and  one  man.  You  see 
there's  the  idea ;  so  go  ahead  and  turn  it  in  by 
Friday  and  I'll  pay  you  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  dollars  for  it  if  I  like  it." 


True  Prophet 

He  was  an  actor,  and  had  been  engaged  for  a 
week  by  the  manager  of  a  pantomime  company 
in  order  that  he  might  be  given  a  chance  to 
prove  his  claims  to  be  a  popular  favorite.  He 
went  through  his  performance  with  scarcely  a 
sound  of  applause,  however,  and  on  the  second 
night  his  success  was  even  more  doubtful.  On 
the  third  night  a  compassionate  spectator  aj)- 
plauded  slightly.  As  the  young  actor  swaggtred 
off  he  met  the  manager  at  the  wings.  Pointing 
in  the  direction  of  the  applause,  he  said,  "  I  say, 
old  fellow,  I  do  go,  don't  I  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  boy,"  replied  the  manager,  with  a 
sad  smile,  "you  do — on  Saturday." 


152        M(t  anD  ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

Ready  Wit 

The  pantomime  in  a  provincial  town  had 
fallen  very  flat  and  the  manager  was  extremely 
anxious  not  to  lose  an  opportunity  of  infusing 
energy  into  his  cast.  * 

Comedian  :  "  I  can't  go  on  for  a  minute,  sir. 
I  feel  funny." 

Manager:  "Funny!  Great  Scott,  man  !  Go 
on  at  once  and  make  the  most  of  it  while  it 
lasts." 

The  Language  of  the  Birds 
A  number  of  New  York  theatrical  managers 

were  discussing  Rostand's  new  play,  Chanticleer, 

in  which  the  characters  represent  various  fowls, 

birds  and  animals. 

"  What  language  will  the  characters  speak  ?  " 

asked  an  inquiring  producer. 

"I  don't  know  as  to  all  of  them,"  replied 

Daniel   Frohman,    "but,  of  course,  the   hero, 

Chanticleer y  will  talk  cockney." 


Wet,  Wetter,  Wettest 

Suett,  the  famous  actor,  was  one  day  alight- 
ing from  a  coach  after  a  long  journey  in  the 
pouring  rain,  when  a  gentleman,  who  had  come 
to  meet  him,  asked  : 

"Are  you  Suett?  " 


Wit  anJ)  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stafle        153 

The  immediate  answer  was,  "No,  I'm  drip- 
ping !  " 

Jew  and  Gentile 

Sir  Henry  Irving's  casiigation  at  tlie  tongue 
of  a  wilty  cabman  was  often  related  by  the 
actor  himself.  One  evening,  during  the  run  of 
The  Merchant  of  Venice,  he  arrived  late  at  the 
Lyceum  and  in  the  thoughtlessness  of  hurry 
handed  the  driver  a  shilling,  instead  of  the  legal 
fare  of  eighteenpence.  Cabby  regarded  the 
coin  disdainfully,  and,  with  bitter  sarcasm,  re- 
marked : 

"  If  yer  plays  the  Jew  inside  that  theaytre  as 
well  as  yer  does  outside,  darned  if  I  won't  spend 
this  bob  in  coming  to  see  yer." 

So  delighted  was  the  actor  at  the  man's  wit 
that  he  handed  him  half  a  sovereign. 

When  the  Ghost  Walks 

Every  one  has  heard  the  phrase  "  When  the 
ghost  walks,"  as  applied  to  salary-day;  but  not 
one  man  in  a  thousand  has  any  idea  of  the  way 
in  which  the  phrase  originated. 

According  to  the  best  theatrical  tradition,  the 
phrase  originated  in  the  days  of  Booth. 

As  the  story  goes,  a  company  of  players  pro- 
ducing a  Shakespearian   repertoire  were  in  des- 


154        Mit  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

perate  straits  when  they  one  day  announced  a 
performance  of  Hatrilet  in  a  small  town.  Sal- 
aries had  been  unpaid  for  many  weeks,  and 
there  was  much  dissatisfaction  in  the  company. 

All  went  well  with  the  performance,  however, 
until  Hamlet  comes  on  to  lake  a  look  at  his 
father's  ghost.  Now,  the  ghost  is  off-stage 
when  Hamlet  searches,  and  Hamlet  has  to  speak 
the  line,  "Perchance  'twill  walk  again." 

Here  the  ghost  broke  into  the  scene  from  off- 
stage with  the  loudly-voiced  answer,  which  is 
not  in  the  text  of  the  play:  "Nay,  'twill  walk 
no  more  until  its  salary  is  paid." 


An  Aggregation  of  Talent 

Billy  Frontrow:  "Then  you  think  you  have 
a  good  company  this  season  ?  " 

Enthusiastic  Manager:  "A  good  company  ! 
Why,  they're  all  stars,  sir  !  Every  lady  in  the 
cast  is  a  celebrated  divorcee,  and  every  man  has 
won  his  prize-fight  !  " 


CHAPTER  V 

In  Hard  Luck 

The  often  kaleidoscopic  ups  and  downs  of 
the  theatrical  profession  have  passed  into  a  by- 
word, and  where  there  is  so  much  smoke  there 
must  be  some  fire,  as  is  evidenced  by  the  follow- 
ing miscellany  of  "hard-luck  stories,"  many  of 
them  "reeking  with  humor,"  as  George  Cohan 
would  say,  or  ought  to  say. 


The  Last  Straw 

Frank  Daniels,  early  in  his  career,  was  prin- 
cipal in  a  small  company  that  was  "  touring  the 
provinces."  Business  had  been  poor  and  eating 
had  become  a  luxury.  It  was  only  the  cheering 
knowledge  that  the  new  opera  house  at  Ticon- 
deroga,  N.  Y.,  had  been  almost  sold  out  for  their 
performance  that  kept  them  together. 

"  Wait  till  we  get  to  Ticonderoga,"  the  man- 
ager would  say  to  any  one  who  faintly  suggested 
the  price  of  a  breakfast. 

Finally  they  reached  Ticonderoga.  It  was 
eventide,  and  a  rosy  glow  illumined  the  western 
sky. 


156        mit  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

"  Ah,  me,"  sighed  Daniels  to  the  stage-driver. 
"  The  sun  may  set  in  other  places,  but  never  as 
it  does  here.     Behold  yon " 

"  Sunset !"  growled  the  driver,  "Sunset — 
that's  the  opry  house  burnin'  down." 

The  Reward  of  Persistence 
"My  only  hard  luck  began  regularly  in  my 
career ;  in  fact,  before  my  career  really  began  ; 
and  thereby  hangs  this  tale,"  says  Edgar  Selwyn. 
"I  had  been  'suping'  with  William  Gillett's 
company,  which  was  to  make  a  London  appear- 
ance in  Secret  Service,  when  I  was  suddenly 
informed  that  the  company  contained  one  too 
many,  and  that  I  was  '  it.' 

"  I  immediately  applied  for  an  engagement 
with  a  stock  company  down  South,  and  was 
engaged  on  the  strength  of  my  association  with 
Secret  Service.  But  alas  !  my  new  management 
left  me  in  little  doubt  as  to  what  they  thought  of 
my  work;  in  fact,  they  had  only  one  excuse  for 
keeping  me — they  forgot  to  pay  salaries,  and 
whilst  the  various  members  of  the  company  kept 
leaving  as  regularly  as  the  proverbial  ghost  re- 
fused to  walk,  I  clung  on  with  tenacious  per- 
sistence, playing  many  parts,  much  to  the  distress 
of  small  but  select  audiences,  but  gaining  expe- 
rience rapidly. 


TlWlt  anJ)  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        157 

"  In  the  natural  course  of  a  company's  career, 
we  reached  Rochester,  where,  to  the  joy  of  the 
management,  business  picked  up  tremendously, 
and  it  was  in  the  second  week  of  this  unexpected 
prosperity  that  I  received  a  summons  to  present 
myself  before  the  management  forthwith.  With 
much  trepidation,  and  a  presentiment  of  coming 
evil,  I  wandered  out  '  in  front.' 

"  *  You  are  now  the  only  member  of  the  orig- 
inal company,*  said  my  manager. 

"  I  nodded  weakly. 

"'You  have  had  no  salary  previously,  as  I 
object  to  paying  money  under  false  pretense ; 
but,  while  you  have  still  much  to  learn  as  an 
actor,  I  feel  in  duty  bound  to  acknowledge  your 
loyalty,  and,  therefore,  as  I  anticipate  playing  in 
this  town  for  eight  weeks,  here  is  your  salary  for 
that  period  in  advance.' 

"I  think  I  fainted." 

An  Impresario's  Advice 
Some  years  ago,  after  the  regular  Italian  opera 
season  had  ended  at  the  Academy  of  Music, 
New  York,  that  building  became  a  sort  of  trying 
on  arena  for  would-be  prima  donnas  and  tenors. 
One  day  during  the  open  and  shut  interim  be- 
tween the  seasons,  Max  Maretzek  met  the  tenor 
Adams  and  Madam  Papenheim. 


158        Mit  anD  Ibumoc  ot  tbe  Stage 

When  the  tenor  said,  "  Congratulate  us, 
Max ;  we  have  just  leased  the  Academy  for 
classic  operas — no  candy  rot  for  us,"  the  im- 
presario replied  : 

"  I  wish  you  great  success ;  but  tell  me  your 
proposed  repertory." 

To  this  Adams  responded,  *' Antigone,  Orfeo, 
Iphigenia,  Sapho,  Alceste,  etc." 

Maretzek  suavely  said,  "  That  is  magnificent, 
but  do  me  a  favor  as  an  old  and  experienced 
friend.  Give  the  Trovatore  once  each  week  in 
order  to  pay  salaries." 

This  advice  was  not  followed,  and  very  soon 
the  Academy  was  again  for  rent. 

Better  Late  Than  Never 

Edward  Peple,  author  of  The  Prince  Chap, 
a  pretty  domestic  drama  that  has  won  success, 
had  the  usual  struggle  for  recognition.  The 
other  day  he  told  of  it. 

"  It  may  sound  incredulous,  but  it  really  took 
me  twelve  years  to  get  a  hearing.  Believe  me, 
I  have  had  a  few  experiences.  I  recollect  the 
first  visit  I  made  to  New  York  from  my  home 
in  Richmond,  Va.  I  had  been  reading  that  the 
managers  were  on  their  knees  beseeching  the 
dramatists  to  give  forth  librettos.  I  had  been 
writing  from  my  early  boyhood,   so   I  placed 


"Watt  aiiD  ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        159 

under  my  arm  some  things  of  a  literary  nature 
and  started  for  New  York.  In  four  offices, 
bright,  Irish  boys  on  the  door  told  me  irreme- 
diably that  the  manager  was  not  in,  and  in  the 
fifth  1  got  a  surprise.  I  was  taken  right  into 
the  sanctiwi  sanctorum. 

" '  Well,'  said  the  great  manager,  smiling, 
*  you  are  a  dramatist — a  librettist,  hey  ?  ' 

"  'That  is  my  allegation.' 

"  He  led  me  to  the  front  window  and  pointed 
to  one  of  the  large  buildings  across  the  street — 
fifteen  stories  high,  1  believe, — and  said  : 

"  '  See  all  the  windows  in  that  building  ?  It 
is  a  whole  block  long,  too.  Each  one  of  those 
windows  is  filled  with  a  young  fellow  like  you. 
Go  back  home,  my  boy.     Good-day.'  " 


An  Opera's  Name 

During  an  early  performance  of  Gilbert  and 
Sullivan's  opera.  The  Gondoliers,  at  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Theatre,  New  York,  its  manager,  John 
Stetson,  and  Sir  Arthur  Sullivan  watched  the 
performance  from  a  box. 

Presently  Stetson  asked  Sullivan  the  name  of 
the  opera. 

Sullivan  told  him. 

"A  good  name,"  retorted  Stetson,  looking 
around  liie  half  empty  house,      "  '  Gone  Dol- 


itio        1111111  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

lars,'  eh?     Yes,  1   see  'em   going   out  of   my 
pockets." 

De  Angelis  and  the  Motor-Car 

Jefferson  De  Angelis  is  a  motoring  enthusiast, 
and  carries  a  gasoline-car  with  him  when  on 
tour.  Recently,  in  Boston,  the  clutch  on  one 
door  of  the  machine  got  out  of  order,  and  the 
comedian  sent  it  to  a  garage  to  be  repaired. 
The  job  was  to  be  done  that  same  afternoon, 
and  Mr.  De  Angelis  invited  a  friend  out  for  a 
spin  on  Charles  River  Drive.  They  went  to  the 
workroom  of  the  garage.  The  place  looked  as 
if  a  racing-machine  had  struck  it.  Pieces  of 
automobile  were  scattered  around,  but  nothing 
resembling  a  completed  one  was  in  sight. 

"Where's  my  car?"  inquired  Mr.  De 
Angelis. 

"  There  it  is,"  said  the  workman,  pointing  to 
the  wreck. 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  mend  the  door-clutch  ?  " 
gasped  the  comedian. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  was  the  answer,  "in  look- 
ing her  over  I  found  one  of  the  axles  sprung, 
the  gasoline-tank  leaking,  a  lever  twisted,  several 
bolts  missing,  and  the  steering-gear  out  of  order. 
Thought  maybe  you  wanted  to  live  a  little  longer, 
so  I  went  ahead  to  fix  it  up  right." 


TKnit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage        161 

Mr.  De  Angelis  got  the  machine  three  days 
later — and  also  the  bill.  The  latter  was  for 
$148.00. 

Told  by  John  E,  Henshaw 
"  If  you  want  to  get  pure  and  unadulterated 
criticism,  go  west  with  a  road  company  and  stop 
off  at  Waco,  Texas.  I  happened  to  be  cast  in 
a  company  of  uncertain  backing  a  few  years 
ago,  and  through  the  leniency  of  the  sheriff 
from  the  last  town  we  were  allowed  to  proceed 
to  Waco,  with  the  hope  that  we  would  increase 
our  door  receipts. 

"  Alas  for  shattered  hopes  and  caustic  criti- 
cism !  Not  only  were  we  disappointed  with  a 
poor  house ;  but  all  efforts  in  Waco  were  vain 
after  reading  in  the  local  paper  the  following 
morning: 

"'Rain-storm  in  Galveston;  lasted  twenty 
minutes.  Hail-storm  in  Beaumont ;  ten  min- 
utes. Wind  storm  in  Langtry  ;  two  days.  Barn- 
storm in  Opera  House;  one  night.'  " 

A  Profitable  Hoax 
An  amusing  story   is  told  of  the  ingenious 
scheme  resorted  to  by  a  company  of  actors  in 
Berlin,  not  long  ago,  in  order  to  get  together  a 
big  audience  for  a  certain  benefit  performance. 


162        mat  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

Some  days  before  the  eventful  evening  there 
appeared  in  all  the  Berlin  papers  an  advertise- 
ment to  the  following  effect : 

"A  gentleman  who  has  a  niece,  and  ward 
possessing  a  disposable  property  of  fifteen  thou- 
sand thalers,  together  with  a  mercantile  estab- 
lishment, desires  to  find  a  man  who  would  be 
able  to  manage  the  business  and  become  the  hus- 
band of  the  young  lady.  The  possession  of 
property   or   other   qualifications  is   no  object. 

Apply  ." 

Hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  letters  poured  in 
in  reply  to  this  advertisement.  On  the  morning 
of  the  benefit  day  each  person  who  had  sent  a 
reply  received  the  following  note  : 

"The  most  important  point  is,  of  course,  that 
you  should   like  one  another.     1  and  my  niece 

will  visit  the Theatre  this  evening,  and 

you  can  just  drop  in  upon  us  in  Box  No.  i." 

As  a  matter  of  course  the  theatre  was  t  rammed. 
All  the  best  paying  places  in  the  house  were 
filled  in  the  evening  with  a  public,  mostly  male, 
attired  in  a  style  seldom  seen  even  at  the  Royal 
Opera  itself.  Glasses  were  leveled  on  all  sides 
in  the  direction  of  No.  i  box,  and  eyes  were 
strained  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  niece 
when  she  should  appear  in  company  with  her 
uncle ;  but  uncle  and  niece  came  not,  and  the 


unit  anD  Ibumoc  ot  tbe  Stage        163 

disconsolate  lovers — of  a  fortune — were  left  to 
clear  up  the  mystery  as  best  they  might. 


When  Goodwin  Played 

At  the  Players'  Club,  in  New  York,  a  story 
was  once  narrated  about  Nat  Goodwin. 

"Goodwin's  opening  in  London,  at  the 
Shaftesbury  Theatre,  with  A  Gilded  Fool,  was, 
you  know,  a  frost,"  said  a  tragedian,  smiling 
gladly.  "The  piece  didn't  go  at  all.  Goodwin 
had  to  make  a  quick  change  to  An  American 
Citizen. 

"  Goodwin  was  staying  at  the  Cecil,  and  one 
evening  he  got  into  a  hansom  to  go  to  the  thea- 
tre. Shaftesbury  Avenue,  in  front  of  the  Shaftes- 
bury Theatre,  is  usually  crowded  with  cabs  and 
hansoms  and  motor- busses,  and,  to  make  better 
time,  cabmen  usually  approach  by  means  of  a 
little  alley  on  the  west. 

"'Shaftesbury  Theatre,  said  Goodwin  to  the 
cabman,  and,  to  save  time,  take  the  alley.' 

"  '  No  need  to  take  the  alley  to-night,  sir, 
said  the  cabman,  grinning.  Goodwin  is  play- 
ing A  Gilded  Fool,  sir.'  " 


For  the  Poor  People 
There  was  once  a  well-known  Irish  manager 
called  Huntly  Mny  McCarthy.     On  one  of  his 


164        imft  an&  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

visits  to  Cork  he  found  business  so  outrageously 
bad  that  he  was  at  his  wit's  end.  At  last  the 
idea  struck  him  that  he  would  get  up  a  benefit 
for  the  "poor  of  Cork."  He  did  so,  and  it 
being  for  such  a  deserving  object,  he  got  the 
patronage  of  the  Mayor  and  other  notables  of  the 
place,  and  a  big  house  was  the  result.  Next 
morning  the  secretary  and  treasurer  of  the  fund 
called  at  McCarthy's  lodging  with  the  idea  of 
collecting  the  receipts.  McCarthy  talked  about 
all  kinds  of  things  except  finance,  and  at  last  the 
subject  was  broached  by  the  visitors. 

-■'-1."  savs  MrCarthy;  "I 
think  you  kilovt  ....  benefit  was  for  the  poor  of 
Cork?" 

"  So  we  understand." 

"Then,  gentlemen,  I  have  divided  the  money 
among  ray  own  company,  and  if  you  can  find  a 
poorer  lot  in  all  Cork  you  are  welcome  to  let 
them  have  it."     But  they  couldn't. 

Got  It  Going  and  Coming 
One  of  the  prize  managerial  hard-luck  stories 
relates  to  a  small  manager,  but  it  will  serve  to 
show  how  things  sometimes  happen.  This  man 
saved  up  a  few  thousand  dollars,  and  every 
dollar  represented  blood.  With  this  he  took  out 
a  company  in  a  play  that  had  made  quite  a  sue- 


'WIlit  anD  Ibumot  of  tbe  Stage        165 

cess  several  seasons  before.     He  was  to  get,  on 
an   average,  seventy  per  cent,  of  the  gross  r" 
ceipts  on  the  road.     Being  somewhat  new  in  the 
business,  he  carefully  figured  out  what  his  com- 
pany cost,  but  he  did  not  consider  the  very  im- 
portant matter  of  how  little  he  might  take  in. 
On  the  opening  night,  at  a  New  Jersey  town  not 
far  from  New  York,  his  share  of  the  receipts  was 
two   hundred    and    sixty   dollars.      He   was  so 
elated  that  he  blew  the  company  to  a  dinner  that 
cost  fifty  dollars.     Then  business  got  bad,  but 
the  company  struggled  on  until  Thanksgiving. 
When  the  manager  reached  the  theatre  where 
they  were  to  play  the  Thanksgiving  matinee  he 
could  not  believe  his  ears ;   there  had  been  an 
advance  sale  of  one  thousand  dollars.     Thanks- 
giving matinees  are  always  good  business  for  a 
cat-and-dog  show.     The  manager  was  in  great 
glee,    but    his   enthusiasm    soon    chilled.     The 
leading  man   and    the   general    understudy  got 
drunk,  and  the  man  who  played  the  heavy  parts 
got   into  a  fight  with  the    baggage-master   for 
smashing  his  trunk,  and  was  arrested.     When  the 
time  for  matinee  came,  the  company  was  short 
four  members  and  the  performance  was  called 
off.     The   manager    then    went  to  Chicago  to 
arrange  for  some  transportation.     He  went  along 
the  route   his   own  show  was  booked,    and   at 


166        'wait  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

nearly  every  box-office  he  had  to  make  a  touch 
to  keep  him  going.  This  is  often  done  by  ad- 
vance agents,  for  the  money  is  later  taken  out 
of  the  show  receipts.  Two  days  later  in  Chicago 
he  met  one  of  the  members  of  his  company. 

"Why  aren't  you  back  with  the  show?"  he 
asked. 

"The  company  closed  in  Sandusky  yester- 
day," was  the  reply. 

To  cap  the  climax  of  this  manager's  hard 
luck,  he  got  a  job  as  advance  man  for  a  show. 
When  he  looked  over  the  route  he  found  that  it 
exactly  doubled  back  over  the  route  of  his  own 
company,  and  included  every  place  where  he 
had  made  a  hot  touch  at  the  box-office. 


An  Actor's  Pipe-Dream 

John  S.  Flaherty,  manager  of  the  Majestic 
Theatre  in  New  York,  was  walking  along  Broad- 
way with  a  theatrical  friend,  when  the  latter's 
attention  was  attracted  by  a  fine  meerschaum 
pipe  in  a  show-window.  After  admiring  it  for 
a  time,  the  actor  suggested  that  they  go  inside 
and  ask  the  price. 

"  How  much  for  that  carved  pipe  in  the 
window  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Only  fifty  dollars,"  said  the  clerk.      "  It's  a 


•wait  anO  Ibumot  ot  tbe  Stage        167 

beauty,  aiul  is  the  genuine  article.     Shall  I  show 
it  to  you  ?  ' ' 

"  But  he  did  not  show  the  pipe,"  said  Flah- 
erty, in  relating  the  incident,  "  for  the  actor  was 
out  of  the  door  and  strolling  down  the  street. 
When  I  overtook  him,  I  heard  him  say  to  him- 
self: 'Two  weeks'  alimony  for  a  pipe?  Well, 
I  guess  not ! '  " 

For  Lack  of  a  Lead  PencU 
"  In  certain  parts  of  the  country,"  said  Ray- 
mond Hitchcock,  being  in  a  reminiscent  mood, 
"the  'room  with  bath  '  is  hard  to  round  up  in 
a  sequence  of  one-night  stands — ^just  when  it  is 
most  valuable.  I  won't  designate  the  town  of 
this  experience,  because  I  may  have  to  visit  it 
again.  I  was  overdue  for  a  dip  when  I  reached 
the  hotel  in  this  place,  and  gave  three  cheers 
when  I  found  the  tub  was  a  local  institution.  I 
had  splashed  around  like  a  kid  taking  a  stolen 
swim,  when  I  found  out  that  there  were  no  towels 
in  the  room ;  also  there  was  no  telephone  to  the 
hotel  office,  and  there  was  nothing  but  a  hole  in 
the  wall  where  the  electric  button  ought  to  be. 

"  For  drying  myself  there  were  these  expedi- 
ents— running  up  and  down  the  room  swiftly, 
converting  the  lace  window  curtains  into  crash, 
or  sitting  still  and  fanning  myself  with  my  hat. 


168        Timit  and  "toumor  of  tbc  Stage 

Recourse  lo  these  three,  pieced  out  by  a  burning 
sense  of  injustice,  enabled  me  to  put  on  my 
clothes  over  a  dry  skin  after  a  while,  and  then  I 
tore  down-stairs  to  say  something  hard-boiled  to 
the  proprietor. 

"  VVhen  I  had  finished,  he  gave  me  a  pitying 
smile,  beckoned  to  me  to  follow,  and  led  me  to 
my  room. 

"  '  It  is  very  simple,'  he  said.      *  Observe.' 

"  With  this  he  took  a  lead  pencil  from  his 
pocket,  and  inserted  it  in  the  hole  wiiere  the 
button  used  to  be.  The  wiring  was  still  there, 
for  in  a  minute  up  came  a  bell-boy.  The  pro- 
prietor looked  at  me  triumphantly,  and  left  the 
room  before  I  could  think  of  anything  appro- 
priate to  say. 

"  The  company  still  had  some  doubtful  terri- 
tory ahead.  If  it  had  been  possible  to  can  a  few 
baths,  I  should  have  done  it.  Instead,  I  thought 
I  would  take  another  the  same  day,  while  the 
opportunity  lasted.  Secure  in  the  knowledge 
that  the  room  was  not  isolated,  and  despite  the 
fact  that  towels  were  still  missing,  I  jumped  into 
the  tub  and  tried  to  absorb  water  to  the  full  ca- 
pacity of  the  human  frame. 

"  Then  I  put  a  dripping  hand  into  the  pock- 
ets of  my  vest.  There  was  no  lead  pencil  there. 
My  fountain  pen  was  too  big  for  the  buttonless 


"Uatt  auD  Ibumor  of  tbc  Staflc        169 

bell,  and  so  was  the  handle  of  my  tooth-brush. 
By  following  the  original  program,  I  got  dressed 
and  started  for  the  proprietor  again.  He  wasn't 
in,  but  I  was  told  I  could  find  him  across  the 
sireet.  Outside  the  door  I  encountered  three 
blind  men  selling  lead  pencils." 

His  First  Experience 

Jefferson  De  Angelis,  star  of  Fantana,  and 
other  pieces,  had  been  indulging  in  reminis- 
cences. "I  remember,"  Mr.  De  Angelis  said, 
"that  my  first  real  experience  in  spending 
money  at  a  high  class  restaurant  was  at  Har- 
vey's in  Washington.  There  was  with  me  at 
the  time  a  young  woman  noted  for  her  epicu- 
reanism, and,  when  I  asked  her  what  she  would 
like  to  eat,  she  selected  soft-shell  crabs.. 

"  '  Same  here,'  said  I  to  the  waiter.  The 
creatures  were  brought  to  us  alive,  though  I  did 
not  realize  the  fact,  or  know  that  I  was  supposed 
to  treat  them  with  scalding  water.  The  food 
looked  strange  to  me,  but  I  was  game,  and  I 
did  not  propose  to  show  my  ignorance.  The 
first  thing  I  did  to  the  bunch  was  to  throw  some 
salt  and  pepper  over  them.  A  moment  later, 
one  crab  stood  up  on  his  forty-nine  legs  and 
shook  himself,  much  as  a  dog  would  after  coming 
out  of  the  water.     My  companion  looked  on  in 


170        "mil  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

amazement,  but  turning  to  the  waiter,  I  said,  in 
my  most  sophisticated  tone  : 

"  *  Bring  me  the  Worcestershire  ! ' 
"  He  brought  it,  and  I  dumped  the  whole 
bottle  full  over  my  soft-shell  friend,  who 
promptly  stood  up  again,  lifted  his  head  like  an 
ostrich,  and  started  to  crawl  across  the  table. 
He  walked  off,  dropping  to  the  tile  floor  with 
the  green  tartar  sauce  and  brown  Worcestershire 
dripping  like  paint  from  every  corner  of  his 
anointed  person.  The  waiter,  of  course,  cap- 
tured the  creature,  and  gave  it  a  boiling  bath. 
I  took  the  hint  with  the  other,  but  I'm  not  likely 
soon  to  forget  my  first  soft-shell  crab  !  " 


The  Madness  of  Hamlet 

Richard  Mansfield,  at  a  dinner  party  in  New 
York,  contributed  an  anecdote  to  the  old  ques- 
tion of  the  sanity  of  Hamlet. 

"  One  morning  in  the  West,"  he  said,  "  I 
met  a  young  friend  of  mine  and  asked  him 
where  he  had  been  the  night  before. 

"  '  I  went,'  my  young  friend  replied,  'to  see 
So-and-So's  Hamlet.' 

"  '  Aha,  did  you?'  said  I.  '  Now  tell  me — 
do  you  think  Hamlet  was  mad?  ' 

"  '  I  certainly  do,'  said  he.  '  There  wasn't  a 
hundred  dollars  in  the  house.'  " 


TMlft  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        ni 

Every  Little  Helps 

Will  Mandeville,  the  actor,  and  another 
actor  named  Babcock,  went  to  New  York  in 
their  early  days  in  search  of  an  engagement. 
They  had  some  money  and  lived  on  Broadway 
while  it  lasted.  They  could  get  nothing  to  do 
and  retreated,  step  by  step,  until  they  got  into 
a  reasonably  clean,  but  very  cheap,  lodging- 
house  on  the  Bowery. 

One  morning  they  awoke  with  the  distressing 
knowledge  that  they  had  no  money,  that  they 
had  had  nothing  to  eat  for  a  long,  long  time, 
and  that  they  had  no  prospects  of  getting  either 
money  or  food.  They  had  pawned  everything 
they  had  that  was  pawnable.  The  situation  was 
desperate.  At  its  most  doleful  phase,  an  Italian 
organ-grinder  started  a  lively  tune  beneath  their 
window.  Mandeville  was  too  disconsolate  to 
listen,  but  Babcock  walked  over  to  the  window 
and  looked  out. 

Suddenly  Babcock  crouched  down  on  the 
floor  and  made  signs  to  the  astonished  Mande- 
ville to  keep  quiet.  Mandeville  sat  and  stared. 
Presently  a  tiny  monkey  with  a  tin  cup  clam- 
bered on  the  window-sill  and  held  out  the  cup. 
Babcock  made  a  feint  as  if  to  put  a  coin  in 
the  cup,  and  the  monkey  jumped  into  the 
room. 


172       -mit  aiiD  ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

"  Shut  the  window,  quick  !  "  yelled  Babcock, 
"and  I'll  hold  the  monkey." 

Mandeville  slammed  down  the  window  and 
Babcock  grabbed  the  monkey  by  the  throat. 
"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Mandeville. 
"  Are  you  crazy?  " 

"  I  am  not,"  Babcock  replied.  "  Look  here." 
And  he  held  up  the  monkey's  cup,  which  had 
some  coins  in  it. 


But  Business  Flourished 

It  is  well  known  that  Lew  Dockstader  goes  to 
a  theatre  to  ask  about  advance  sales  before  he 
thinks  of  a  hotel.  On  his  last  visit  to  Charles- 
ton, S.  C,  he  covered  the  distance  between  the 
depot  and  the  playhouse  in  an  extraordinarily 
short  time.  He  nodded  once  to  the  treasurer, 
twice  to  the  manager,  who  knew  the  minstrel 
king's  habits.  Dockstader  looked  at  the  ticket 
rack,  and  seeing  it  full,  said  : 

"  What  are  the  prospects  ?  " 

Charles  Mathews  replied  with  a  word  equiva- 
lent to  putrid. 

"M-m,"  said  Dockstader.  "I'll  fix  that; 
just  watch  me." 

He  hurried  back  on  the  stage,  found  the 
property  man,  who  was  arranging  the  tubs  for 
the  boys,  and   sent   him   to  all  the  hotels  and 


IWlt  mt>  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        173 

boarding-houses  to  summon  every  member  of 
the  couipany.  When  they  swarmed  to  the 
theatre,  Dockstader  ordered  them  to  get  into 
their  uniforms,  and  with  their  instruments,  for 
they  often  act  in  the  capacity  of  a  band,  started 
out  and  made  a  four-hour  parade  under  the  still 
hot  Southern  sun. 

Hot  and  perspiring,  for  he  himself  had  led 
the  band  of  minstrels.  Lew  appeared  again  at 
the  box-office. 

"  How  are  things  looking  for  me,  now  ?  " 

"Everything  sold.  We  are  having  the  S. 
R.  O.  sign  brushed  up." 

"Aha!  I  told  you  so."  The  monarch  of 
bones  fanned  himself  with  his  hat  and  grinned. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Lew?"  said 
Charley  Mathews.  "We  haven't  had  a  seat 
left  for  you  since  yesterday.  This  rack  of 
tickets  is  for  to-morrow  night's  show." 


CHAPTER  VI 

Jefferson  and  His  Friends 

A  MORE  loved  and  lovable  actor  than  Joseph 
Jefferson  never  lived.  His  friends  were  legion, 
both  on  and  off  the  boards.  Elsewhere  in  this 
book  there  will  be  found  some  examples  of  his 
witty  sayings,  but  there  are  enough  besides  of 
these  extant  to  deserve  a  chapter  by  themselves. 

How  Joe  Jefferson  Packed  the  Jury 

Each  spring,  for  a  number  of  years,  it  was  the 
custom  of  Joseph  Jefferson  to  leave  Palm  Beach, 
where  he  had  his  winter  home,  for  a  theatrical 
tour  of  six  weeks.  He  was  once  asked  by  the 
writer  if,  after  nearly  seventy  years  on  the  stage, 
he  did  not  find  this  professional  work  burden- 
some, and  he  answered  quickly  that  his  spring 
tour  was  the  easiest  way  that  he  knew  of  to 
make  about  thirty  thousand  dollars.  Mr.  Jef 
ferson  was  always  fond  of  telling  stories,  and 
often  told  the  following  about  himself: 

He  had  been  invited  to  be  present  at  the 
meeting  of  a  certain  secret  order,  noted  for  its 


TKnit  anD  fjumot  of  tbe  Stage        175 

hospitality.  But  he  was  hardly  seated  before 
the  chair  roared  out : 

"  Let  our  worshipful  officers  arrest  one  Joseph 
Jefferson,  and  bring  him  before  us." 

"  But  what  am  I  arrested  for,  Mr.  President  ?  " 
asked  the  prisoner,  after  he  had  been  promptly 
hustled  "  up  front." 

"For  discharging  firearms  in  the  Catskills, 
and  compassing  the  death  of  your  good  dog, 
Schneider." 

"But  it  was  only  a  little  holiday  lark,  and 
Schneider  died  while  I  was  asleep  !  "  protested 
Mr.  Jefferson. 

"Was  I  to  blame,  gentlemen  of  the  jury?" 
he  asked,  appealing  to  the  others. 

"  No,"  came  the  answer  in  a  chorus. 

"The  jury  acquits  me,  your  honor,"  remarked 
the  prisoner. 

"I  am  suspicious  of  the  jury,"  replied  the 
president;  "you  are  such  an  old  hand  at  pack- 
ing houses  that  I  believe  you  have  packed  this 
jury." 

She  Wore  Them  Right 

One  of  the  stories  told  by  Joseph  Jefferson 

when  playing  in  Philadelphia  on  his  last  tour 

had  to  do  with  a  woman  bicyclist,  who  overtook 

him  as  he  was  walking  along  a  rural  road.     As 


176        "mil  and  Dumot  ot  tbe  Staflc 

she  reached  him,  she  jumped  from  her  wheel 
and  standing  erect  revealed  the  fact  that  she 
was  attired  in  a  radical  bloomer  costume. 

«'  Pardon  me,  sir,"  she  said,  "  but  is  this  the 
way  to  VVareham  ?  " 

Jefferson  said  he  stammered  and  faltered  until 
he  was  ashamed  of  himself,  as  he  replied  :  "  I — 
I — really — I  guess  so.  They  seem  to  me  to  look 
all  right." 

"  Pigs  is  Pigs  " 
Mr.  Jefferson,  on  his  visit  to  Pekin,  Illinois, 
called  on  the  editor  of  a  newspaper  of  that  town, 
and  in  their  conversation  the  editor  said  that  he 
had  something  appertaining  to  the  actor  that  he 
thought  would  interest  him.  Going  to  his  book- 
case with  a  bland  smile,  he  brouglit  forth  the 
city  directory,  in  which  were  pasted  sundry 
newspaper  cuttings.  The  editor  proudly  held 
up  the  book,  and  this  is  what  Jefferson  read  : 

"  In  April,  1857,  Mr.  Jefferson  appeared  in  this 
city  in  the  opera  house  that  formerly  had  been  a 
stable,  and  on  which  site  to  day  stands  St.  Mary's 
Catholic  Church.  It  was  during  this  perform- 
ance in  one  of  the  most  pathetic  scenes  between 
his  wife  and  himself  in  J?ip  Van  Winkle  that  the 
pigs  underneath  the  stage  made  such  a  rumpus, 
spoiling  the  scene.     Mrs.  Jefferson,  who  was  of 


lUtt  anJ)  Ibumou  of  tbe  Staae        n? 

a  very  nervous  temperament,  lost  control  of  her- 
self and  burst  out  crying.  The  jovial  Rip,  quick 
as  a  flash,  raised  his  cup,  and  bowing  gallantly 
to  his  wife  said  :  '  Here's  to  your  good  health 
and  your  family's  and  the  little  piggies.  May 
they  all  live  long  and  prosper  !  '  " 

The  "  Dead  Beat  "  and  the  Pass 
Among  after-dinner  speakers,  Joseph  Jefferson 
ranked  as  one  who  could  tell  a  good  story  in  a 
dry,  delightful  way.     His  stories  dealt  princi- 
pally with  theatrical  subjects. 

"While  starring  through  Indiana  several 
years  ago,"  he  said  at  a  dinner  one  night,  <'  my 
manager  was  approached  by  a  man  who  had  the 
local  reputation  of  being  a  pass  'worker'  or 
dead  beat.  He  told  the  usual  yarn  about  being 
a  former  actor  and  ended  by  asking  for  profes- 
sional courtesies. 

"  '  I  would  be  glad  to  oblige  you,'  said  the 
manager,  '  but  unfortunately,  I  haven't  a  card 
with  me.'  Just  then  a  happy  thought  struck 
him,  and  he  added  :  'I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
I  will  write  the  pass  where  it  will  be  easy  for  you 
to  show  it.' 

"Leaning  over,  with  the  pencil  he  wrote, 
*  Pass  the  bearer,'  on  the  fellow's  white  shirt 
front,  and  signed  his  name.     The  beat  thanked 


178       iKfltt  atiD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

him  and  hastened  to  the  gate.  The  ticket-taker 
gravely  examined  the  writing  and  let  him  take  a 
few  steps  inside,  then  called  him  back,  saying, 
in  a  loud  voice : 

"  '  Hold  on,  my  friend  ;  I  forgot.  It  will  be 
necessary  for  you  to  leave  that  pass  with  me.'  " 

Forrest  and  Jefferson 

Joseph  Jefferson  tells  this  story  of  Edwin  For- 
rest, one  of  whose  early  successes  was  young 
Norval,  in  the  tragedy  of  Douglas.  The  story 
goes  that  William  Wood,  the  stage-manager,  who 
seldom  was  known  to  praise  any  one,  being  caus- 
tic and  severe  in  his  criticisms,  one  night  was 
relating  in  the  greenroom  before  the  whole 
company  that  the  finest  first  appearance  he  ever 
had  witnessed  was  that  of  a  young  man  from 
Philadelphia  in  the  character  of  Norval.  There- 
upon the  great  tragedian  rose,  and,  bowing  with 
comic  gravity,  said:  '-Mr.  Wood,  I  was  that 
young  gentleman." 

The  actors  were  delighted  to  see  that  Wood 
had  betrayed  himself  into  a  compliment  unin- 
tentionally, when  Wood  exclaimed  :  "  Well,  sir, 
you  have  never  done  so  well  since." 

She  Met  Her  Match 
There  is  a  story  of  Jefferson,  which  the  actor 


imtt  anD  Ibumot  of  tbe  Stage        179 

himself  was  fond  of  repeating.  He  was  asked, 
some  fourteen  years  ago,  to  spend  a  week  with 
a  Scotch  peer.  Among  the  guests  was  a  haughty 
and  brilliant  woman,  who  was  the  daughter  of 
an  earl. 

"1  suppose,"  said  Jefferson,  "  that  there  must 
have  been  a  homespun  flavor  in  my  American 
manner  that  amused  her,  for  she  persisted  in 
quizzing  me  about  America. 

"  But  when  I  discovered  that  1  was  being 
made  game  of  I  felt,  for  the  honor  of  my  coun- 
try, that  if  ever  she  made  another  thrust  at  me  I 
should  parry  it  if  I  could.  I  had  not  long  to 
wait,  for  emboldened  by  her  success,  she  soon 
turned  upon  me  and  said  : 

" '  By  the  by,  have  you  met  the  Queen 
lately?' 

"  '  No,  madam,'  I  replied  with  perfect  serious- 
ness. '  I  was  out  when  her  Majesty  called  upon 
me.' 

"She  colored  slightly,  and  then  turned  away 
and  never  spoke  to  me  again.  But  I  was  re- 
venged." 

Fact  vs.  Fiction 
A  number  of  years  ago  Jefferson  played  a  one- 
night   engagement    in    a    small   Indiana  town, 
appearing  in  his  favorite  character.     In  the  hotel 


180        "Wait  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

at  which  he  stopped  was  an  Irishman  recently 
"landed,"  who  acted  as  porter  and  general  as- 
sistant. Judged  by  the  deep  and  serious  inter- 
est which  he  took  in  the  house,  he  might  have 
been  clerk,  lessee  and  proprietor,  combined  into 
one.  At  about  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  Jef- 
ferson was  startled  by  a  violent  thumping  on  his 
door.  When  he  struggled  into  consciousness 
and  realized  that  he  had  left  no  call  order  at  the 
office,  he  was  indignant.  But  his  sleep  was 
spoiled  for  that  morning,  so  he  rose,  and  soon 
after  appeared  before  the  clerk. 

•'  See  here,"  he  demanded  of  that  individual, 
"  why  was  1  called  at  this  unearthly  hour?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  answered  the  clerk. 
''I'll  ask  Mike." 

The  Irishman  was  summoned.  Said  the 
clerk  : 

"Mike,  there  was  no  call  for  Mr.  Jefferson. 
Why  did  you  disturb  him?  " 

Taking  the  clerk  by  the  lapel  of  the  coat,  the 
Hibernian  led  him  to  one  side,  and  said  in  a 
mysterious  whisper:  "He  was  snoring  like  a 
horse,  sor,  and  Oi'd  heard  the  boys  say  as  how 
he  were  onct  afther  shlaping  for  twenty  years,  so 
Oi  sez  to  meself,  sez  I :  '  Mike,  it's  coming  onto 
him  again,  and  it's  yer  duty  to  get  the  craythur 
out  of  your  house  at  once.'  " 


XClft  anD  fjumor  ot  tbe  Stage        181 

The  Power  of  the  Truth 
Jefferson  once  had  in  his  enriployiuent  a  plausi- 
ble sort  of  man,  half  valet,  half  factotum,  grossly 
incompelenl  and  unsatisfactory,  whom  he  desired 
to  get  rid  of.  It  was  a  certainty  that  the  man 
drank.  Wine  from  the  cellar  would  mysteriously 
disappear,  and  gradually  go  down  in  the  de- 
canter ;  but  there  never  was  any  ocular  proof. 

"And,"  said  Jefferson,  in  telling  the  story  to 
a  friend,  "there  I  was.  What  could  I  do? 
However,  one  day  as  I  was  sitting  in  my  library, 
whom  should  1  see  but  William  come  reeling  up 
the  walk,  drunk  as  a  lord.  There  was  no  doubt 
of  it.  My  opportunity  had  come  after  many 
years.  I  waited  for  him.  I  would  tell  him 
how  drunk  lie  was.  He  would  deny  it,  of 
course.  He  would  insist  that  he  was  perfectly 
sober,  and  that  I  was  the  one  who  was  drunk. 
But  I  should  have  the  calm  consciousness  of 
right  on  my  side,  and  my  excuse  for  sending 
him  away  would  be  sufficient.  So  when  Will- 
iam appeared  in  my  room  I  gazed  at  him  with 
all  the  severity  that  I  could  summon,  and  said  : 

"  'William,  you  are  drunk  !  ' 

"  He  returned  my  look  with  perfect  imper- 
turbability. '  Mr.  Jefferson,'  said  he,  '  I  am 
more  than  that — I  am  very  drunk,  sir.' 

"And,"  continued  Jefferson,  "will  you  tell 


182        mat  anO  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage 

me  what  I  could  do?  He  took  the  wind  out  of 
my  sails.  He  proved  himself  a  perfectly  truth- 
ful man,  and  I  couldn't  discharge  a  man  for 
telling  the  truth,  could  I?" 

The  Son  of  His  Father 

Peter  F.  Dailey's  leading  support  when  he 
starred  in  Hodge,  Podge  <s'  Co.  was  Christie 
MacDonald,  now  the  wife  of  William  Winter 
Jefferson,  a  son  of  the  famous  comedian.  While 
Dailey  and  his  company  were  playing  in  Wash- 
ington, Jefferson  dropped  into  town  to  see  his 
fiancee.  On  the  opening  evening  he  occupied 
a  box  at  the  theatre,  and  when  Dailey  saw  him 
a  merry  light  glittered  in  the  comedian's  eye. 
In  the  second  act  of  the  play  Dailey  and  Miss 
MacDonald  had  a  humorous  duet  to  sing.  Be- 
fore beginning  the  song,  "Now,  Christie,  he 
came  all  the  way  from  Palm  Beach  to  hear  you 
sing.  Every  one  in  the  audience  knows  you 
are  engaged,  and  that  he  is  in  the  lower  right- 
hand  box;  so  do  your  nicest." 

Needless  to  say,  the  audience  took  the  cue, 
and  all  eyes  were  directed  toward  Jefferson.  He 
fled  precipitately,  while  Miss  MacDonald  grew 
crimson,  and  was  obliged  to  go  into  the  wings 
to  recover  her  composure.  Dailey  remained  on 
the  stage  and  enjoyed  his  joke  hugely ;  so  did 


mat  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        183 

the  audience,  but   it  broke  up  the  performance 
for  a  time. 


The  Real  Rip 

Mr.  Jefferson  was  very  fond  of  relating  the 
following  story : 

"  In  the  village  of  Catskill  there  is  a  Rip  Van 
Winkle  Club.  The  society  did  me  the  honor  to 
invite  me  to  act  the  character  in  their  town.  I 
accepted,  and  when  1  arrived  was  met  by  the 
president  and  other  members  of  the  club,  among 
whom  was  young  Nicholas  Vedder,  who  claimed 
to  be  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  original  'old 
Nick.'  I  was  taking  a  cup  of  tea  at  the  table  in 
the  hotel,  when  I  was  attracted  to  the  colored 
waiter,  who  was  giving  a  vivid  and  detailed 
account  of  the  legend  of  the  Catskill  Mountains 
to  one  of  the  boarders  who  sat  nearly  opposite 
me. 

"'Yes,  sah,'  said  the  waiter,  'Rip  went  up 
into  de  mountains,  slep'  for  twenty  years,  and 
when  he  come  back  here  in  dis  bery  town  his 
own  folks  didn't  know  him.' 

"  '  Why,'  said  his  listener,  '  you  don't  believe 
the  story's  true  ?  ' 

"  '  True  ?  Ob  course  it  is  !  Why,'  pointing 
at  me,  'dat's  de  man.' 

"When  I  got  to  the  theatre,"  said  Jefferson, 


184        imit  anJ)  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

"  I  scarcely  could  get  in,  the  crowd  was  so  great 
about  the  door.  In  the  scene  in  the  last  act, 
when  Rip  inquires  of  the  innkeeper,  '  Is  this  the 
village  of  Falling  Water?'  I  altered  the  text 
and  substituted  the  correct  name,  'Is  this  the 
village  of  Catskill  ?  ' 

"The  name  of  the  village  seemed  to  bring 
home  the  scene  to  every  man,  woman  and  child 
that  was  looking  at  it.  From  that  time  on  the 
interest  was  at  its  full  tension.  I  never  had  seen 
an  audience  so  struck  with  the  play. 

•*  There  was  a  reception  held  at  the  club  after 
the  play,  and  the  president  was  so  nervous  that 
he  introduced  me  as  Washington  Irving." 


CHAPTER  VII 

First  Person  Singular 

To  tell  a  good  story  in  which  oneself  figures 
does  not  necessarily  spell  egotism,  especially 
when  the  narrator  comes  out  second  best.  In 
the  following  pages  will  be  found  some  "first- 
hand" anecdotes  whose  value  is  not  lessened 
because  they  are  narrated  by  the  principal  actor 
in  each. 


When  I  Was  Twenty-One 
"  A  few  years  ago,"  says  James  T.  Powers, — 
"  I  will  not  tell  how  many — I  served  my  appren- 
ticeship upon  the  stage,  and  after  each  unsuc- 
cessful venture  I  returned  home  broke;  and 
heard  the  familiar  and  family  joke,  '  I  told  you 
so  !  '  Still  I  held  on  to  the  belief  that  some  day 
I  would  show  them  that  the  stage  was  for  mine, 
and  after  spending  a  few  weeks  in  the  bosom  of 
my  family,  and  enjoying  the  fatted  calf,  I  would 
wander  forth  again. 

"At  this  particular  period  I  strayed  so  far 
West  that  I  couldn't  get  back;  and  it  lacked 
but  two  days  of  my  twenty-first  birthday. 


186        'Wilit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

"'Oil,  saving  grace!'  I  exclaimed  to  an 
actor  friend  who  was  in  the  same  boat.  '  On 
my  twenty-first  birthday  the  judge  won't  refuse 
me,  so  if  we  can  scare  up  the  price  for  a  collect 
telegram,  I  believe  he  will  come  down  hand- 
somely.' 

"  After  much  thinking  and  rewriting,  I  finally 
sent  the  following  message  : 

"  '  Father,  I  am  twenty-one  to-day  and  broke.' 

"  How  we  hung  around  that  Western  tele- 
graph office  waiting — waiting  for  the  wire  that 
would  soon  put  us  on  the  sunny  side  of  easy 
street  ! 

"  At  last,  the  next  day,  the  answer  came  '  col- 
lect.' This  was  puzzling;  however,  I  borrowed 
the  price,  and  read  my  message  from  father : 

"'So  was  I,  my  boy,  when  1  was  twenty- 
one.'" 


Prove  It  !  Prove  It  ! 

Edward  Stevens,  the  actor,  first  decided  he 
was  born  to  go  on  the  stage  when  he  was  a 
young  man  in  San  Francisco. 

He  tried  for  several  engagements  and  got  none 
in  the  drama.  Then  he  thought  he  would  make 
a  start  in  vaudeville. 

He  went  around  to  the  leading  variety  house 
and  was  shown  into  the  manager's  office.     The 


lUit  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbc  Stage         187 

manager  was  an  old  German,  very  cross  and 
very  busy,  and  wiih  no  high  opinion  of  actors. 

"Vat  you  vant  ?  "  he  asiied. 

"I  want  a  job,"  stammered  Stevens. 

"A  job?     Votyoudo?" 

"  I  am  a  comedian." 

"Oh,  a  comicker,  eh?"  He  turned  fiercely 
on  the  shrinking  young  man  and  roared  :  "  Veil, 
make  me  laugh  !  " 


A  Warning 

Orlando  Day,  a  fourth-rate  actor  in  London, 
was  once  called,  in  a  sudden  emergency,  to  sup- 
ply the  place  of  Allen  Ainsworih  at  the  Criterion 
Theatre  for  a  single  night. 

The  call  filled  him  with  joy.  Here  was  a 
chance  to  show  the  public  how  great  a  histrionic 
genius  had  remained  unknown  for  lack  of  an 
opportunity.  But  his  joy  was  suddenly  damp- 
ened by  the  dreadful  thought  that,  as  the  play 
was  already  in  the  midst  of  its  run,  none  of  the 
dramatic  critics  might  be  there  to  watch  his 
triumph. 

A  bright  thought  struck  him.  He  would 
announce  the  event.  Rushing  to  a  telegraph 
office,  he  sent  to  one  of  the  leading  critics  the 
following  telegram:  "Orlando  Day  presents 
Allen  Ainsworth's  part  to-night  at  the  Criterion." 


188        mtt  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

Then  it  occurred  to  him,  "  Why  not  tell  them 
all?"  So  he  repeated  the  message  to  a  dozen 
or  more  important  persons. 

At  a  late  hour  of  the  same  day,  in  the  Garrick 
Club,  a  lounging  gentleman  produced  one  of  the 
telegrams,  and  read  it  to  a  group  of  friends.  A 
chorus  of  exclamations  followed  the  reading: 
"Why,  I  got  precisely  the  same  message!" 
"And  so  did  I."  "And  I,  too."  "Who  is 
Orlando  Day?"  "What  beastly  cheek!" 
"  Did  the  ass  fancy  that  one  would  pay  any  at- 
tention to  his  wire?  " 

J.  M.  Barrie,  the  famous  author  and  play- 
wright, who  was  present,  was  the  only  one  who 
said  nothing. 

"  Didn't  he  wire  you,  too?"  asked  one  of  the 
group. 

"Oh,  yes." 

"  But  of  course  you  didn't  answer." 

"  Oh,  but  it  was  only  polite  to  send  an  answer 
after  he  had  taken  the  trouble  to  wire  me.  So, 
of  course,  I  answered  him." 

"  You  did  !     What  did  you  say?" 

"Oh,  I  just  telegraphed  him:  'Thanks  for 
timely  warning.'  " 


Sacrificed  His  Prize  Books 
'Perhaps  the  most  strenuous  period  of  my 


"Uatt  aiiD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage        189 

'hard  time'  was  also  my  happiest,"  said  Otis 
Skinner. 

"  I  doubt  if  I  should  care  to  live  again  through 
the  experiences  of  that  period,  however,  for  alas  ! 
we  grow  no  younger. 

'« It  was  my  first  season  on  the  stage  in  the 
stock  company  of  a  minor  theatre  of  an  Eastern 
city. 

"I  had  just  tumbled  out  of  the  soft  comfort 
of  the  parent  nest,  and  had  never  known  the 
necessity  of  earning  my  daily  bread,  but  here  1 
was  put  to  it  in  earnest.  The  promised  wage 
was  small,  but  the  parts  intrusted  to  my  youth- 
ful talents  were  glorious.  What  cared  I  if  my 
worldly  possessions  were  confined  within  the 
space  of  agarret  bedroom,  sumptuously  furnished 
with  a  bed,  a  wash-stand  and  a  chair,  so  long  as 
I  could  find  a  vent  for  my  genius  in  the  low- 
browed character-villains  in  the  current  melo- 
dramas ! 

"Even  though  salary  day  became  more  or 
less  a  movable  feast,  one's  enthusiasm  rose 
triumphant  over  baser  considerations.  No  use 
asking  aid  from  home ;  opposition  to  my  deter- 
mination had  been  so  strong  that  I  had  burned 
my  bridges. 

"  I  recalled  one  day  when  I  had  been  impor- 
tuned for  unpaid  rent  by  an  indignant  landlady 


190        imitt  anO  Ibumoi-  ot  tbe  Staflc 

for  the  fifth  time,  I  resolved  to  bring  my  mana- 
ger to  a  proper  realization  of  his  financial  respon- 
sibilities. He  listened  patiently  to  my  demand, 
and  then  turned  over  a  number  of  notices  from 
the  gas  company. 

'* '  How  can  I  give  you  salary  when  I  have 
these  to  pay  ?  '  he  said.  '  If  I  don't  meet  these 
payments,  they'll  turn  off  the  gas;  then  where 
will  you  be  ?  ' 

"Sorrowfully  I  went  to  the  garret  room,  and 
from  a  small  zinc  trunk  I  took  a  number  of 
books,  souvenirs  of  my  prize-winning  days  at 
school,  and  carried  them  to  a  second-hand  book- 
store ;  and  the  result  was  a  square  meal  at  the 
best  restaurant  in  town,  and  the  smoothing  of 
the  war-wrinkled  front  of  the  landlady. 

"  Moreover,  when  on  Friday  night  the  parts 
were  given  out  at  the  theatre  for  the  drama  of 
the  following  week,  1  received  one  of  forty  pages 
— the  juvenile  hero  of  the  play,  who  held  all  the 
'  fat '  situations.  Only  one  drop  of  bitterness 
in  this  cup  of  joy.  Where  in  heaven's  name 
would  I  get  the  costumes  to  dress  the  part !  " 


Goritz's  Bluff 
*'  Several  years  ago  I  was  playing  the  part  of 
Wolfram  in  the  opera  of  Tannhauser  a(  Breslau. 
"  1  am  very  fond  of  good  cigars,  and  after  my 


lUit  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        191 

scene  a  good  smoke  always  seems  to  quiet  my 
nerves.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  explain  that 
the  period  covered  by  the  Tannhauser  story  long 
preceded  the  manufacture  of  cigars ;  but  this 
fact  was  unknown  to  the  fireman  who  was  sta- 
tioned in  the  wings,  and  his  ignorance  saved  me 
just  one  hundred  dollars. 

"  The  theatre  furnished  us  with  a  smoking- 
room,  and  I  did  not  know  that  smoking  was 
prohibited  in  the  wings ;  so  when  I  came  off  the 
stage,  1  lighted  my  cigar  and  started  toward  the 
greenroom.  Much  to  my  surprise,  I  was  halted 
by  the  guard,  who  said  :  '  You  are  under  arrest. 
Come  with  me,  or  pay  one  hundred  dollars 
fine.' 

"  I  remonstrated  and  said,  'Nonsense,  man  ! 
This  is  in  my  part  to  smoke  on  the  stage.  Away 
with  you  !  ' 

"  My  mock  anger  had  the  desired  effect,  and 
the  bluff  worked.  'I  beg  your  pardon,'  said 
the  subdued  officer.      '  It  is  my  mistake.' 

"  However,  1  took  no  more  chances,  and  re- 
frained from  smoking  until  1  reached  the  green- 
room. ' ' 


The  Stage  To-day 
The  latest  "  Star  "  (being  interviewed)  :    **  In 
fact,  I  may  say  the  author  is  quite  immaterial  to 


192        imtt  an5  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

the  success  of  a  play.  It  depends  solely  on  us. 
Look  how  well  some  of  us  pull  even  old  Shake- 
speare through  !  " 

When  Caruso  Balked 

Signor  Caruso,  the  famous  opera  artist,  tells 
two  funny  stories,  which  show  that  it  is  not 
always  pleasant  to  be  a  great  man. 

The  singer  had  taken  a  castle  at  Castello, 
which  was  the  original  home  of  Cavalcante,  a 
great  friend  of  Dante's,  and,  as  the  building 
was  old  and  needed  repairs,  he  had  the  work- 
men in.     The  signor  says  : 

"My  studio  is  on  the  second  floor.  While  1 
was  at  home  I  used  often  to  go  in  there  to  prac- 
tice. One  day  the  foreman  of  the  workmen 
came  to  me  with  a  very  sour  face. 

"  'Look  here,  Signor  Caruso,'  he  said  ;  *  you 
want  to  get  that  new  wing  finished  as  soon  as 
possible,  don't  you?  ' 

"  I  told  him  that  of  course  I  did. 

"  '  Well,'  he  said,  'every  day,  as  soon  as  you 
begin  to  sing,  every  man  on  the  place  lays  down 
his  tools.  And  they  won't  do  a  stroke  of  work 
until  you  finish.' 

"  So  I  had  to  go  elsewhere  to  do  my  prac- 
ticing. And  these  same  men  had  been  working 
but  a  short  while,"  he  added,  **  when  some  one 


"wait  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Staae        193 

suggested  that,  as  I  was  a  rich  and  successful 
opera  singer,  I  could  afford  to  pay  higher  wages. 
Then  and  there  the  whole  crowd  knocked  off. 
The  foreiTian  again  came  to  see  me. 

"  '  What  do  they  want  ?  '  I  asked. 

"  '  Double  pay,'  said  he. 

"But  they  didn't  get  it.  Fortunately  Flor- 
ence is  not  far  off,  and  I  was  able  to  get  other 
workmen  who  were  content  with  the  usual  pay." 


A  Rapid  Descent 
Augustus  Thomas  wrote  a  part  for  McConnell 
in  the  short-lived  Champagne  Charley.  He  had 
not  been  on  the  stage  for  years,  and  it  was 
thought  that  his  characteristic  humor  might  be 
amusing  in  the  theatre. 

That  assumption  proved  incorrect,  and  Mc- 
Connell retired  from  the  show  before  its  crush. 
Then  a  vaudeville  sketch  called  The  Editor 
was  written  for  him,  and  he  tried  that  for  two 
weeks. 

"Vaudeville's  all  right,  I  suppose,"  he  said 
afterward,  "but  it  didn't  agree  with  me." 

"  What  was  wrong  ?  "  asked  one  of  his  friends. 

"Well,  I  began  in  Chicago  in  a  roof  garden 
on  top  of  a  sixteen  story  sky-scraper.  The  next 
week  I  went  to  St.  Louis  and  played  in  Uhrig's 
Cave.     Could  you  beat  anything  like  that  ?     As 


194        "Wlltt  and  Ibumov  of  tbe  Stage 

I  said,  1  think  vaudeville  is  all  right,  but  I  could 
not  stand  the  sudden  changes  in  the  climate." 


De  Wolf  Hopper  and  the  Darkey 

"A  real  Southern  negro  will  take  a  simple 
story  and  so  enrich  it  in  the  telling  that  it  be- 
comes a  work  of  art.  For  instance,  when  Hap- 
pyland  was  playing  in  Baltimore,  I  sat  positively 
speechless  with  delight  for  half  an  hour,  listen- 
ing to  a  colored  baggageman  describing  to  one 
of  his  confreres  the  state  of  panic  into  which  a 
ghost  had  thrown  an  occupant  of  a  haunted 
house. 

"They  didn't  know  I  was  listening.  They 
were  talking  among  themselves,  in  the  language 
they  were  accustomed  to  use.  If  a  white  man 
had  been  telling  the  story,  he  would  have  gotten 
to  the  end  in  a  minute.  But  the  negro  was 
talking  for  talk's  sake.      He  was  an  artist. 

"  '  Jes'  when  them  two  niggahs  wus  a-fallin' 
toh  sleep  in  dat  'ar  ha'nted  house,'  said  he,  'dar 
wus  er  hor'ble  groan  right  outsiden  de  doah. 

«« «  "  VVhut's  dat?  "  sez  one  niggah.  "  Dey 
ain'  no  one  heah  but  you  an'  me." 

"  '  "Ah  dunno  whut  'tis,"  sez  de  old  niggah; 
"but  Ah  tells  yoh  one  thing;  yoh  gimme  time 
fob  toh  git  mah  clothes  offen  dat  hook,  en  Ah 
gah'niies  yoh'll  be  heah  bah  yo'se'f." 


unit  an&  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        195 

'*  *  En  raight  thaih  dat  niggah  sta'ted  fo'  toh 
run.  He  run  so  fas'  he  laik  toh  choke  toh  de'f 
a-swallerin'  de  aih  in  front  o'  his  face.  He 
come  toh  a  town,  an'  lie  runs  th'o'  hit  so  fas'  he 
foun'  a  new  street  in  hit.  He  kep'  on  a-runnin' 
twell  he  gits  out  in  de  woods  an'  laik  toh  run 
oveh  a  deer.  Dis  heah  deer  nevah  knowed  whut 
uz  de  matter,  en  he  nevah  stops  toh  ask.  He 
tuk  one  look  at  dat  skeered  niggah's  face,  en  he 
sez:  "Ah'm  a-gwine  erlong.  You-all  ain'  got 
no  moh  impo'tant  business  gittin'  outen  dis 
neighborhood  den  Ah  has.  Somepin'  mus'  be 
mighty  wrong  back  dar  whar  yo's  comin'  f'um." 

"  '  Well,  dat  ar  deer  he  kep'  a-runnin'  erlong 
with  dat  ar  skeered  niggah  twell  dey  done  run 
sebenteen  mile.  Den  de  deer  sez  :  "  Ah  run  so 
fas'  mah  sides  is  soah."  And  de  niggah  sez: 
"  Kam'  holp  dat ;  y'  gotter  run  some  moah." 

"  *  At  las'  Mr.  Deer  he  gotter  gib  hit  up. 
"  Ain'  no  use  talkin',"  sez  he.  "  Looks  laik  yo' 
suah  outrun  me." 

"  '  "  Humph  !  "  sez  de  niggah.  "  You-all 
ain'  got  no  chance  toh  keep  up  wif  me,  lessen 
yoh  tek  dat  hat-rack  offen  yoh  haid." ' 

"That's  all  I  heard  of  the  story." 

Desperate  Remedies 
Jack  Barrymore,  son  of  Maurice  Barrymore, 


196       WLit  and  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

and  himself  an  actor  of  some  ability,  is  not  over- 
particular about  his  personal  appearance  and  is 
a  little  lazy. 

He  was  in  San  Francisco  on  the  morning  of 
the  earthquake.  He  was  thrown  out  of  bed  by 
one  of  the  shocks,  spun  around  on  the  floor  and 
left  gasping  in  a  corner.  Finally,  he  got  to  his 
feet  and  rushed  for  a  bathtub,  where  he  stayed 
all  that  day.  Next  day  he  ventured  out.  A 
soldier,  with  a  bayonet  on  his  gun,  captured 
Barrymore  and  compelled  him  to  pile  bricks  for 
two  days. 

Barrymore  was  telling  his  terrible  experience 
in  the  Lambs'  Club  in  New  York. 

"Extraordinary,"  commented  Augustus 
Thomas,  the  playwright.  **  It  took  a  convulsion 
of  nature  to  make  Jack  take  a  bath,  and  the 
United  States  Army  to  make  him  go  to  work." 


Answered  the  Encores 

Henry  E.  Dixey,  the  player,  once  told  of  an 
experience  in  a  small  country  hotel  in  New  Eng- 
land, whereby  the  actor  was  much  annoyed  by 
the  playing  of  a  cornet  at  night  by  a  guest  whose 
room  was  adjoining  that  of  Dixey. 

In  the  morning  the  landlord,  meeting  Dixey 
on  the  stairs,   said   to  him,    before  the  player 


mat  an&  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stafle        197 

could  enter  complaint  in  regard  to  the  proceed- 
ings of  the  night  before  : 

"  How  did  you  enjoy  the  cornet-playing  in 
the  next  room  ?  ' ' 

"Enjoy  it!"  sneered  Dixey ;  "  why,  man 
alive,  I  spent  half  the  night  pounding  on  the 
wall  in  my  endeavors  to  make  the  fool  cease  !  " 

A  sorrowful  smile  crept  into  the  countenance 
of  the  boniface.  "  It  must  have  been  a  misun- 
derstanding," said  he.  "The  gentleman  who 
was  playing  the  cornet  said  that  the  party  in  the 
next  room  applauded  so  lieartily  that  he  went 
over  every  piece  he  knew  several  times  !  " 


A  Legless  Acrobat 

"I  once  had  an  interesting  adventure  quite 
near  Stratford-on- Avon,"  says  Cyril  Scott.  "  My 
old  comedian,  Teddy  Campbell,  and  myself 
were  returning  from  a  hunt  for  patrons.  Our 
last  town  had  been  Kidderminster,  and  we  had 
seen  there  a  couple  of  street  acrobats,  one  on 
stilts  and  the  other  clowning  to  him.  As  we 
were  watching  them  Teddy  exclaimed,  *  Why, 
that's  Renneff.' 

"'Who's  he?' 

"  '  Why,  a  most  celebrated  circus  clown,  real 
name  Tom  Fenner,  who  turned  his  name  around 


198        mit  mt>  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stafie 

for  professional  purposes  and  called  himself  Herr 
Renneff.  Good  heavens,  isn't  it  awful?  Come 
down  to  this  through  drink.' 

"  We  gave  our  coppers  and  came  away.  That 
day  we  were  walking  to  Alcester ;  on  the  way  a 
heavy  shower  came  on  and  we  stopped  under  a 
tree  to  shelter.  On  glancing  down  the  road  we 
saw  a  strange  figure  approaching ;  it  seemed  a 
cross  between  a  scarecrow  and  a  windmill. 

"  '  Whatever's  this?  '  we  asked  each  other. 

"As  it  came  nearer  it  turned  out  to  be  the 
acrobat  we  had  seen  on  the  stilts;  he  had  a 
black  eye  and  a  nasty  cut  on  his  face.  Teddy 
was  soon  in  conversation  with  him,  and  told  him 
he  knew  Fenner. 

"'He  is  my  brother,'  replied  the  acrobat. 
*  I  have  just  been  invalided  home  from  the  war  ' 
(the  Zulu  War),  'and  my  legs  have  got  very 
stiff.  I  used  to  be  in  the  business  before  I  en- 
listed, and  when  I  came  back  I  sought  out  my 
brother  and  joined  him.  I  was  not  very  good 
on  the  stilts,  being  out  of  practice,  but  was  get- 
ting into  form  all  right,  when  my  brother  got 
drunk  and  was  vexed  with  me,  and  pulled  the 
stilts  from  under  me,  and  this  is  the  consequence ' 
(pointing  to  his  cut  face) ;  '  so  I  have  left  him — 
gone  on  my  own.' 

"  *  Why  were  you  invalided  ? '  I  asked  him. 


Tamt  anJ)  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage        199 

"  *  Well,  they  seemed  to  think  my  legs  would 
never  be  right  again,  through  wearing  my  top- 
boots  sixteen  days  without  taking  them  off.' 

"  '  What  did  you  do  that  for?  ' 

"  '  I  couldn't  help  myself.  I  was  in  the  Bat- 
tle of  Isandula ;  I  was  driver  in  the  Artillery  and 
saved  the  last  gun  ;  everybody  was  shot  around 
me.  I  drove  the  gun  out  myself,  and  was  six- 
teen days  getting  to  the  nearest  point  of  safety, 
and  when  I  got  there  they  had  to  cut  my  boots 
off  my  feet,  and  I  was  so  stiff  they  thought  I 
should  never  be  able  to  move  my  legs  again,  so 
they  sent  me  home.' 

"  Teddy  and  I  glanced  at  each  other.  Teddy 
said,  '  Well,  look  here,  old  pal,  we're  a  bit  in 
the  same  line  ourselves  and  we're  not  over  flush, 
but  if  a  couple  of  bob ' 

"'No,  thank  ye,'  the  man  said.  'I'm  all 
right ;  I've  had  two  good  pitches  to-day,  and  I 
get  sixpence  a  day  pension  and  I'm  to  have 
more  later  on.  The  Duke  of  Cambridge  heard 
about  my  case,  and  had  me  up  before  him.  He 
got  me  to  drive  a  team  and  I  did,  and  by  good 
luck  I  did  it  well,  for  I  distinctly  heard  the  Duke 
say  to  the  one  next  to  him,  "By  gad,  look,  see 
how  he's  put  their  necks  in  the  collar,"  and  they 
tell  me  he  is  going  to  recommend  me  for  more 
money,  so  you  see  I'm  all  right.     Have  you  a 


200        Mit  anD  Ibumoi:  ot  tbe  Staac 

match  ?     Thank  ye.     It's  cleared  up,  so  I'll  be 
off.     Good-day;  '  and  away  he  went." 


Well  Lit-Up 
The  peacock  is  a  shrinking  violet  beside  some 
actors.  A  manager  once  had  a  musical  play  on 
in  Chicago.  The  leading  actor  did  not  make  it 
go,  so  another  man  was  put  in  to  help  brace  it 
up.  One  of  the  terms  of  his  contract  was  that 
he  was  to  be  featured.  At  rehearsal  he  did 
splendidly  and  almost  made  a  new  play  out  of 
the  show.  Naturally,  the  manager  put  his  name 
up  in  the  electric  sign  in  front  of  the  theatre 
under  the  name  of  the  original  star.  When  the 
star  drove  past  the  theatre  that  night  and  saw 
the  other  actor's  name  up  with  his,  he  was 
furious.  He  threatened  not  to  play  if  it  wasn't 
darkened  at  once.  The  name  went  out.  Then 
the  second  actor  drove  along.  When  he  saw 
his  name  dark,  he  raged  and  said  he  wouldn't 
play  unless  his  name  was  turned  on.  Those  two 
silly  actors  kept  the  electrician  busy  winking 
their  names  on  and  off  until  the  manager  got 
disgusted,  cut  both  out,  and  substituted  the 
name  of  the  piece. 

Astonished  the  Manager 
Harry  Bulger  tells  the  following  story  at  the 


mat  anO  Ibumoi:  of  tbe  Stage        201 

expense  of  a  New  York  theatrical  manager  to 
whom  he  was  under  contract  not  so  many  sea- 
sons ago : 

"  We  were  engaged  one  morning  testing  voices 
for  a  summer  production,  the  manager,  musical 
director  and  myself;  there  was  a  rather  long 
line,  and  all  looking  for  positions  in  the  chorus, 
and  nearly  every  voice  was  below  the  standard, 
which  was  very  disappointing,  and  the  manager 
got  to  be  very  irritable  as  we  got  to  the  last  of 
the  applicants,  who  was  a  very  melancholy  look- 
ing man.  As  he  came  to  the  piano  he  attempted 
to  make  some  remark,  but  was  promptly  cut 
short  by  the  manager,  who  said  : 

"  '  You  will  omit  all  preliminary  remarks  and 
get  down  to  business.  Try  him,'  he  added, 
turning  to  the  director. 

"  The  latter  began  the  accompaniment  to  a 
popular  song,  which,  with  some  hesitancy,  the 
applicant  for  a  job  attempted  with  what  voice 
he  had.  His  effort  was  about  as  bad  as  it  could 
have  been. 

"  '  Look  here  !  '  cut  in  the  manager,  after  the 
singer  had  cleared  his  throat  for  a  second  verse, 
'that'll  do!  You  actually  have  the  nerve  to 
ask  me  for  a  job  ?  * 

"'Certainly,'  replied  the  sad  one  in  an  in- 
jured tone. 


202        Mtt  and  Ibumoc  ol  tbe  Stage 

<< « Why,  man,  you  can't  sing  a  little  bit !  ' 
"  'I  don't  claim  to  be  able  to  sing,*  calmly 

responded  the  man,  'and  I  don't  want  to  sing. 

I  am  a  stage  carpenter.     I  was  only  singing  to 

please  you  people — you  seemed  to  be  so  set  on 

it.'  " 


No  Hurry 

"I  could  write  many  volumes  on  my  experi- 
ences in  the  hotels  of  the  '  tank  towns '  of  the 
middle  West,"  recently  observed  Edwin  Tar- 
risse,  "  but  of  these  none  would  be  more  anms- 
ing  than  an  incident  that  occurred  during  my 
stay  some  years  ago  in  a  Kansas  town. 

"I,  as  well  as  other  members  of  the  company, 
had  turned  in  at  the  principal  hostelry,  which, 
by  the  way,  was  dubbed  'The  Occidental.' 
We  retired  at  about  midnight,  after  leaving  a  call 
for  five  o'clock,  in  order  that  we  might  catch  a 
train  at  5  :  30.  Exactly  on  the  stroke  of  five 
we  were  awakened  by  the  landlord  and  his 
menials,  who  were  yelling  at  the  top  of  their 
voices :  '  Everybody  go  to  sleep  again.  Th' 
train's  an  hour  and  a  half  late  !  ' 

"Accordingly,  with  much  grumbling,  we 
turned  over  for  another  snooze.  Just  ninety 
minutes  later  we  were  aroused  again  in  similar 


XWlit  anO  Dumoc  of  tbc  Stage        203 

fashion.     But  this  time  it  was  to  receive  this 
unique  message  : 

"  'Everybody  can  sleep  again,  if  they  want. 
The  train's  gone.'  " 


One  Cold  December  Night 
"  It  was  twenty  odd  years  ago,  one  cold  De- 
cember night,"  says  Lew  Fields,  "and  I  had 
met  with  but  very  little  encouragement  in  the 
theatrical  world  at  that  time,  and,  having  over- 
slept myself  on  the  train  whicli  bore  me  from 
St.  Joseph,  Missouri,  to  Leavenworth,  Kansas, 
I  found  myself  on  the  platform  of  the  latter 
station,  hungry  and  depressed  in  spirits. 

"  When  I  left  St.  Joe  I  knew  I  had  the  sum 
of  seventy-eight  dollars  in  my  pocket.  When  I 
stood  on  the  platform  of  Leavenworth  I  had  but 
one  single  cent.  I  realized  that  a  kindly  stock- 
yards man  with  whom  I  had  fallen  into  conver- 
sation had  robbed  me,  and  that  the  company  of 
which  I  was  a  member  had  gone  on  to  Kansas 
City. 

"The  telegraph  office  was  closed.  I  could 
not  wire  on  for  money  ;  and  it  was  bitter  cold 
in  Leavenworth  that  early  morning.  Across  the 
street  I  saw  a  ray  of  comfort.  It  was  an  Italian 
fruit    stand,    displayed    upon    which    were   red 


204        ixflit  an&  TDumor  of  tbe  Stage 

apples  and  brown  doughnuts.  Each  doughnut 
was  marked  'one  cent,'  and  so  vvas  each  red 
apple.  Remember,  please,  that  I  was  inordi- 
nately hungry.  And  yet  I  had  but  that  one 
penny  in  my  pocket. 

"For  fully  five  minutes  I  stoo<l  in  front  of 
that  Italian  stand,  debating  in  my  mind  how  I 
should  spend  my  sole  capital.  Every  time  I 
looked  at  a  doughnut  I  got  hungry,  and  every 
time  I  looked  at  one  of  those  red  apples  I  got 
hungrier.     I  took  the  coin  in  my  hand. 

"  '  I'll  toss  it  up,'  I  said  to  myself.  '  Heads, 
doughnut;   tails,  red  apple.' 

"I  spun  the  coin  in  the  air.  It  fell,  and, 
striking  against  my  outstretched  palm,  bounded 
off,  and  fell  down  an  iron  grating.  The  Italian 
was  sorry  for  me  in  my  misfortune,  but  explained 
that  he  could  not  lift  the  grating  without  the 
permission  of  the  commissioner  of  public  works. 
He  further  explained  that  he  could  not  give  me 
an  apple  or  a  doughnut  without  cash.  And  so 
I  had  to  remain  in  Leavenworth  for  five  hours, 
without  food,  until  my  collect  telegram  to 
Kansas  City  had  been  answered,  and  I  was 
enabled  to  depart.  But  I  have  since  thought 
how  fortunate  I  was.  Suppose  I  had  been  com- 
pelled to  spend  five  hours  in  Atchison  ?  I  would 
have  died." 


■wait  auD  ■fijumot  of  tbe  Stage        205 

Colonel  Ingersoll's  Cure 
E.  H.  Gilmore,  the  New  York  theatrical  man- 
ager, once  engaged  Robert  G.  IngersoU  for  four 
Sunday  lectures  at  Gilmore's  Garden  at  $500  a 
lecture. 

The  first  lecture  was  delivered  to  a  $2,400 
house.  There  were  $3,000  in  the  house  on  the 
second  Sunday  night.  On  the  following  Tues- 
day, Colonel  Ingersoll's  manager  visited  Mr. 
Gilmore  and  said  :  "I'm  very  sorry,  but  the 
Colonel  cannot  lecture  next  Sunday  night.  Bet- 
ter make  your  announcements." 

Gilmore  pondered.  There  was  already  a 
thousand-dollar  advance  sale  for  the  next  lec- 
ture. He  hunted  up  Colonel  IngersoU.  "  Sorry, 
Colonel,"  he  said,  "that  your  throat  is  so  sore. 
Bother  you  much?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  IngersoU,  "it  is  very  trouble- 
some. I  couldn't  think  of  using  my  voice  next 
Sunday." 

"  Doing  anything  for  it?  " 

"  Oil,  yes,  spraying  it  and  all  those  things, 
you  know." 

Gihiiore  walked  over  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  Then  he  turned  and  said  :  "  Bob,  do 
you  think  it  would  cure  that  throat  if  I  gave  you 
forty  per  cent,  of  the  receipts  for  the  next  two 
lectures  instead  of  a  flat  five  hundred  dollars?" 


a06        Timtt  anO  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

"  Really,  Ned,"  IngersoU  replied,  "  I  think  it 
would." 
And  it  did. 

When  "  Drammers  "  Come  Easy 
At  the  Players'  Club  in  New  York  one  even- 
ing there  was  a  guest  from  out  of  town,  a  play- 
wright well  known  for  his  extraordinary  facility 
in  turning  out  the  alleged  drammers  that  do  the 
"ten-twenty-thirty"  circuits.  It  is  no  uncom- 
mon thing  for  this  producer  to  grind  out  five 
or  six  of  his  plays  annually. 

Some  one  innocently  asked  the  playwright  if 
it  was  rather  difficult  to  find  new  ideas  for  his 
plays. 

•'  Really,  I  don't  know,"  was  the  frank  answer 
of  the  man  who  has  made  thousands  of  dollars 
from  his  drammers  ;  "  I  have  never  tried  it." 


When  Grossmith  Arrived 

George  Grossmith,  Jr.,  the  popular  actor,  tells, 
with  great  enjoyment,  this  little  anecdote  : 

The  elder  Grossmith — his  father,  who  is  also 
the  famous  entertainer — was  due  at  a  hall  in 
London  at  nine  o'clock  one  evening,  to  deliver 
one  of  his  inimitable  "talks"  before  a  large 
audience. 

His  train  had  been  delayed,  and  the  start  from 


TKntt  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Sta^e        -^o? 

his  hotel  was  made  at  an  hour  that  would  bring 
he  and  liis  son,  who  accompanied  liiin,  to  their 
destination  about  a  half-hour  after  the  time  ad- 
vertised for  his  appearance. 

It  was  with  considerable  mental  discomfort 
that  the  entertainer,  whose  ideas  of  the  virtue  of 
promptness  are  unusual,  viewed  the  streets  from 
a  cab  window,  anxiously  scanning  the  passing 
buildings  for  a  sight  of  the  one  in  which  his 
audience,  doubtless,  was  impatiently  waiting  for 
him. 

At  last  a  brilliantly  lighted  building  was 
brought  into  view,  from  whose  open  doors  a 
stream  of  people  was  pouring.  Terrible  thought : 
the  audience  had  grown  tired  of  waiting  and  was 
leaving  ! 

Without  ordering  the  driver  to  stop,  the  elder 
Grossmith  sprang  from  the  cab  and  rushed  into 
the  thick  of  the  crowd,  raising  his  arms  implor- 
ingly, and  shouting:  "Go  back!  Go  back! 
I  am  here.  I  was  delayed.  Grossmith  is 
here  !  " 

The  building,  however,  proved  to  be  a  church, 
from  which  the  congregation  was  issuing  after 
early  service  ;  and  shortly,  after  an  embarrassed 
retreat,  Grossmith  found  his  audience  in  a  hall 
a  few  yards  beyond,  awaiting  his  arrival  with  a 
commendable  lack  of  impatience. 


208        TMlt  anO  Ibiimor  ot  tbe  Stags 

A  Long-Lived  Family 

A  "dime  museum"  manager,  having  heard 
of  a  man  one  hundred  and  twenty-three  years 
of  age,  journeyed  to  his  home  to  try  and  secure 
him  for  exhibition  purposes. 

"Well,  my  friend,"  said  the  museum  mana- 
ger, "  the  proofs  of  your  age  seem  to  be  all  right. 
Now,  how  would  you  like  to  come  to  my  place, 
just  do  nothing  but  sit  on  a  platform  and  let 
people  look  at  you,  and  I  will  pay  you  one  hun- 
dred dollars  a  week  ?  " 

"I'd  like  it  all  right,"  answered  the  aged 
man.  "But  I  couldn't  go,  of  course,  unless  I 
had  my  father's  consent." 

"  Your  father  !  "  gasped  the  manager.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  say  that  your  father  is  alive?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  the  man. 

"  Well,  where  is  your  father  ?  Home,  here  ?  " 
asked  the  manager. 

"Oh,  yes,"  was  the  answer.  "He's  up- 
stairs putting  grandfather  to  bed  !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

From  the  Audience 

Without  spectators, — and  plenty  of  them, — 
there  could  be  no  plays  or  players,  and  it  is  no 
secret  to  those  "  in  the  know"  that  many  kill- 
ingly  ludicrous  happenings  occur  on  the  hither 
side  of  the  footlights.  Similarly,  the  point  of 
view  of  those  who  occupy  the  seats  of  the  mighty 
frequently  occasions  mirth,  while  the  altitude  of 
sundry  and  diverse  individual  auditors  toward 
the  actors  and  the  play  often  takes  a  ludicrous 
turn,  as  may  be  gathered  from  the  following 
array  of  "really  and  truly"  anecdotes. 


"  Mixed  Those  Children  Up" 
It  is  quite  true  that  very  often  the  name  of  the 
author  of  the  play  is  printed  on  the  program  in 
no  bigger  type  than  that  of  the  man  who  sup- 
plies the  shoes ;  and  not  seldom  it  is  quite 
diuiinutive  by  contrast  with  the  size  of  the  letters 
proclaiming  the  individual  who  staged  the  show. 
And  yet,  what  with  the  howl  about  the  scarcity 


210        xrait  and  Ibumor  ot  tbc  Stage 

of  plays  still  going  up,  you  might  think  that  the 
playwright  would  be  considered  the  most  impor- 
tant personage  in  the  whole  lay-out.  But,  to 
judge  by  the  following  incident,  the  public  cares 
no  more  about  the  identity  of  the  author  than 
does  the  usual  run  of  manager.  1  quote  from 
the  London  Sketch  : 

"  By  a  slip  of  the  pen,  the  authorship  of  His 
House  in  Order  was  recently  attributed  to  Mr. 
Henry  Arthur  Jones  by  the  senior  theatrical 
paper  in  England.  The  fact  is  interesting,  for 
it  demonstrates  how  comparatively  little  heed  is 
paid  to  the  authors  of  plays. 

"By  a  curious  coincidence,  this  was  amus- 
ingly demonstrated  at  the  St.  James'  Theatre  at 
a  performance  of  one  of  Mr.  Henry  Arthur  Jones' 
plays  attended  by  the  present  writer.  In  the 
seats  adjoining  his  were  a  lady  and  a  gentleman. 
After  the  second  act  the  gentleman  turned  to 
his  companion  and  remarked  :  '  I  don't  know 
who  wrote  this  play ;  do  you  ?  ' 

"She  replied:  'No,  I  don't,  either.  I  sup- 
pose it's  Pinero,  because  he  generally  writes  the 
plays  for  the  St.  James'.' 

"  '  Let  us  look  at  the  program,'  suggested  the 
gentleman. 

"He  opened  it  and  said:  'No,  it  is  not 
Pinero;   it  is  Jones.' 


TAlltt  anJ)  Ibumor  ot  tbc  Stage        211 

"*Is  it?'  she  replied.     '1  never  know  the 
difference  between  them.'  " 


The  Stony  Critic 

Deep  knowledge  and  long  experience  of  the 
drama  do  not  always  soften  the  heart  to  the 
appeal  of  theatric  sentiment.  Mr.  James  Hune- 
ker  tells  this  story  of  his  experience  at  The 
Music  Master  on  himself— or  is  it  on  the  play? 
He  had  just  returned  from  an  extended  tour 
among  the  great  artistic  theatres  of  the  Conti- 
nent, in  which  he  gathered  much  of  the  material 
for  his  "Iconoclasts,"  a  Book  of  Dramatists. 
Now,  as  a  disciple  of  Nietzsche,  he  has  his 
doubts  as  to  the  nobility  of  self-sacrifice,  and, 
as  it  happens,  this  play,  like  so  many  other 
popular  American  pieces,  centres  in  a  deed  of 
Quixotic  renunciation.  In  the  pathetic  last  act 
Mr.  Huneker  suddenly  became  aware  that  most 
of  the  audience  were  blowing  their  noses.  He 
turned  to  Mrs.  Huneker  and  remarked  : 

"  Most  everybody  in  New  York  seems  to  have 
a  cold.     You'd  better  look  out  and  not  catch  it." 

Mrs.  Huneker  pointed  out  that  the  audience 
was  crying  over  the  play.  Even  as  he  tells  the 
story,  Mr.  Huneker  mingles  a  look  of  disgust 
with  his  amusement. 


•212        mit  anO  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stafic 

Numbers  Told 

William  Collier  relates  a  story  of  the  days 
when  he  was  a  member  of  a  "fly-by-night" 
combination  doing  small  towns  in  the  Middle 
West. 

"One  night,"  said  Mr.  Collier,  "  while  wait- 
ing for  the  curtain  to  rise,  I  asked  our  manager, 
who  had  his  eye  glued  to  the  peep-hole  in  the 
curtain,  what  sort  of  a  house  we  were  going  to 
have. 

"  '  Some  of  the  seats  are  filled,'  he  answered, 
'but  we're  still  in  the  majority,  my  boy.'  " 


Thomas  Q.  Seabrooke  and  the  Critics 
"  I  remember  distinctly  my  first  press  notice, 
because  I  was  thrilled  with  an  insane  desire  to 
get  even  with  the  man  who  wrote  it.  And  I  did 
so,  twelve  years  later.  At  the  time  of  my  first 
appearance,  I  was  playing  Bertie  Cecil  in  Under 
Two  Flags  at  Pittsfield,  Mass.,  where  the  com- 
pany appeared  one  night. 

"  The  next  morning  the  town  critic  roasted  the 
performance  to  a  turn,  and  me  especially,  say- 
ing, '  Seabrooke  is  neither  physically  nor  men- 
tally equipped  for  an  actor.' 

"  He  was  really  abusive,  and  what  made  mat- 
ters worse,  he  came  down  to  the  depot  the  next 
day  to  see  us  off.      '  For  your  own  sake  as  well 


"Oait  anD  Ibumot  ot  tbe  Staflc        213 

as  the  public,  spare  us,'  he  said ;  '  you  ought  to 
drop  the  stage.' 

"  *  Don't  you  think  you  are  rubbing  it  in  ?  '  I 
said,  and  looked  him  over  with  a  desire  to 
throttle  him. 

"'No;  I  am  not  afraid  to  tell  you  what  I 
think.     This  is  on  the  square,'  he  said. 

"  '  Well,  you'll  get  yours,  old  man,'  I  shouted, 
as  I  stepped  aboard  the  train,  'and  befoie  the 
public,  tool '  " 


Twelve  Years  Later 

"  Twelve  years  later  I  had  made  good  and 
started  for  my  revenge. 

"I  arri  ved  on  the  Thomas  Q.  Seabrooke  Special 
at  Pittsfield,  and  carried  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  in  the  company.  The  town  was  too  small 
for  the  expense  of  the  show,  which  by  rights 
should  have  played  for  fifteen  minutes  instead  of 
one  night ;  but  I  had  waited  all  these  years  to 
queer  that  critic,  and  took  the  risk. 

"  The  august  critic  was  in  a  box  when  I  stepped 
before  the  curtain  in  my  speech  to  the  audience; 
and  say,  the  things  I  said  of  him  and  the  things 
I  did  to  him  ! — I  only  wish  I  could  remember 
the  speech.  The  house  greeted  it  with  cheers, 
and  I  was  even." 


214        Mtt  an&  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage 

A  Country  Comment 

One  night  Dave  Warfield  was  playing  at 
David  Belasco's  new  theatre,  supported  by  one 
of  Mr.  Belasco's  new  companies.  The  perform- 
ance ran  with  a  smoothness  of  a  Standard  Oil 
lawyer  explaining  rebates  to  a  Federal  court. 
A  worthy  person  of  the  farming  classes,  sitting 
in  G  14,  was  plainly  impressed.  In  an  interval 
between  the  acts  he  turned  to  the  metropolitan 
who  had  the  seat  next  him. 

"Where  do  all  them  troopers  come  from?  " 
he  inquired, 

"  I  don't  think  I  understand,"  said  the  city- 
dweller. 

**  I  mean  them  actors  up  yonder  on  the 
stage,"  explained  the  man  from  afar.  "  Was 
they  brought  on  specially  for  this  show,  or  do 
they  live  here?  " 

"  I  believe  most  of  them  live  here  in  town," 
said  the  New  Yorker. 

"  Well,  they  do  purty  blamed  well  for  home 
talent,"  said  the  stranger. 

Chevalier  and  the  Postal  Clerks 
Albert  Chevalier  has  done  more  to  reform  and 
raise  the  tone  of  the  English  music-hall  enter- 
tainment than  any  other  artist.     He  is  the  grand- 
son of  a  rector  of  a  country  parish,  and  his  father 


Tamt  anO  Ibumot  ot  tbe  Stafie        215 

was  a  French  tulor  at  Kensington  Grammar 
School.  Although  he  early  gained  success  as  an 
amateur,  he  did  not  appear  on  the  stage  until 
1877.  This  was  in  An  Unequal  Match  at 
the  Prince  of  Wales'  Theatre  when  he  acted 
under  the  name  of  Knight.  He  was  with  Mr. 
John  Hare  later  at  the  Court  Theatre.  In  189 1 
he  began  his  famous  career  as  an  impersonator 
of  the  coster,  and  has  written  the  music  and 
words  for  fifty  songs.  Mr.  Chevalier  tells  a 
story  of  his  once  singing  in  a  small  town  not  far 
from  London.  The  audience  had  been  very 
enthusiastic,  and  he  remarked  on  the  fact  to  the 
manager  afterward,  saying  that  he  thought  they 
were  almost  too  demonstrative. 

'•  Why?  "  asked  that  worthy. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Chevalier,  "they  were 
knocking  their  umbrellas  and  sticks  on  the  floor 
all  the  time  I  was  on  the  stage." 

"Not  quite,"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "You 
see,  the  post-office  is  right  above  us,  and  what 
you  took  for  applause  was  the  officials  stamping 
the  letters  for  the  mail." 

The  Variable  Joke 
Vaudeville  audiences  are  traditionally  loyal, 
loyal  to  old-time  performers,  and  not  less  loyal 
to  old-time  jokes.     In  f;ict,  even  in  the  very  best 


216        imit  anD  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage 

of  the  variety  theatres,  the  old  joke  seems  to  find 
a  heartier  welcome  than  the  new. 

It  sometimes  happens  even  that  an  audience 
will  laugh  heartily  at  the  same  joke  twice  or  even 
three  times  in  one  afternoon.  Ofcourse  its  form 
is  a  little  changed,  but  the  idea  is  the  same,  and 
it  is  always  fresh. 

Take  the  historic  jest  about  stealing  things 
from  hotels.  Its  simplest  form  is  a  reference  to 
a  collection  of  souvenir  spoons — some  marked 
"Fifth  Avenue  Hotel"  and  some  "  Astor 
House,"  That's  the  way  it  first  appeared  at  a 
vaudeville  theatre  the  other  afternoon. 

Half  an  hour  later  it  turned  up  again.  This 
time  two  men,  stage  Hebrews,  who  sang  paro- 
dies of  popular  songs,  were  the  perpetrators. 
They  sang  a  verse  about  some  one's  New  Year's 
party,  and  told  about  gifts  the  guests  brought, 
including  spoons  marked  "  Happy  New  Year." 
The  hero  of  the  song,  however,  brought  a  spoon 
marked  "Blank  Hotel."  For  the  second  time 
an  apparently  intelligent  audience  showed  keen 
pleasure  in  the  joke. 

The  last  time  it  bobbed  up  for  the  day  was 
near  the  close  of  the  entertainment.  Two  young 
men  appeared  in  a  scene  intended  to  represent 
the  dressing-room  of  a  theatre.  The  dialogue 
was  about  like  this  : 


"wait  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage        ^n 

First  Young  Man:  "Hey,  that's  my  towel 
you  got !  " 

Second  Young  Man:  "How  do  you  know 
it  is?" 

First  Young  Man  :    "  My  name  is  on  it." 

Second  Young  Man:  "Is  your  name  Blank 
Hotel?" 

The  audience,  now  thoroughly  familiar  with 
the  ground  plan  of  the  joke,  laughed  even  more 
uproariously  than  on  the  two  previous  occasions. 

It  was  fortunate,  since  all  this  took  place  in 
Brooklyn,  that  no  further  demands  on  the  joke 
were  made,  for  it  is  vaudeville  etiquette  to  use 
if  possible  the  name  of  a  local  hotel  in  these 
jokes,  and  Brooklyn  is  notoriously  short  of 
hotels  whose  names  are  really  familiar. 


Revenge  On  a  Ticket  Speculator 
Playgoers  who  have  been  blocked,  jostled  and 
buttonholed  by  sidewalk  ticket  speculators  will 
appreciate  this  story  all  the  more  they  hear  of  it. 
One  of  the  New  York  critics,  while  going  into 
the  theatre  with  his  wife,  was  lately  caught  by 
the  sleeve  and  whirled  about-face.  Now,  the 
sight  of  a  ticket  is  about  as  alluring  to  the  pro- 
fessional first-nighter  as  the  click  of  a  typewriter 
is  to  the  business  man  ;  and  the  victim,  who  has 
a  sense  of  humor,  smiled,  and  was  about  to  pro- 


218        -mit  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage 

test,  when  he  caught  sight  of  a  Tenderloin 
roundsman,  an  Irishman,  who  was  a  sworn  friend 
and  admirer.  The  critic  had  once  written  a  lit- 
tle piece  commending  the  cop  for  his  skill  and 
promptness  in  handling  a  block  in  traffic. 

"I  guess  this  is  a  case  for  you,  Haggerty," 
he  said  smiling,  and  without  thinking  a  second 
time,  dodged  into  the  foyer  after  his  wife.  When 
the  play  was  over,  as  he  was  hurrying  away  to 
write  his  article,  the  policeman  saluted  him  with 
a  broad  grin.  "  I  locked  him  up  all  right,  sir," 
he  said. 

The  critic,  who  had  underestimated  the  lengths 
of  an  Irishman's  gratitude,  was  dumbfounded, 
and  has  not  yet  had  the  courage  to  tell  his  wife 
the  result  of  his  intended  pleasantry. 

Irving  and  the  Gallery  God 
Once  Henry  Irving,  while  playing  Macbeth  in 
London,  was  somewhat  disconcerted  by  one  of 
the  "gallery  gods."  He  had  reached  the  point 
where  Macbeth  orders  Banquo's  ghost  to  leave 
the  banquet  board.  "  Hence,  horrible  shadow, 
unreal  mockery,  hence  !  "  exclaimed  Irving  in 
his  most  tragic  tones,  and  with  a  convulsive 
sii udder  sank  to  the  ground,  drawing  his  robes 
about  his  face.  Just  as  Banquo  withdrew,  an 
agitated  cockney  voice  from  up  in  the  gallery,  as 


imit  auD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage        219 

if  to  reassure  Irving,  piped  out,  "  It's  all  right 
now,  'Enery,  'e's  gone  !  " 

What  an  Audience  Will  Swallow 
"I  never  saw  an  audience  swallow  'soft 
sawder'  so  easily  as  I  once  did  at  Barrow-in- 
Furness,"  says  an  English  manager  in  reminis- 
cent mood.  "I  was  traveling  with  T.  C.  King, 
a  well-known  tragedian  in  his  day.  Mr.  King 
was  known  familiarly  as  '  Tom,*  and  one  night 
during  our  week's  stay  Jem  Mace,  the  celebrated 
pugilist,  was  appearing  at  the  music-hall,  which 
brought  from  Mr.  King  the  remark  : 

"'By  Jove!  here's  history  repeating  itself 
with  a  vengeance — Jem  Mace  and  Tom  King 
opposing  each  other  once  again  !  ' 

"  As  I  had  never  seen  anything  in  the  way  of 
professional  sparring,  I  went  across  to  the  music- 
hall.  The  place  was  crowded  to  the  doors. 
We  had  gotten  a  very  poor  audience  at  the 
theatre,  but  with  true  professional  courtesy  the 
manager  of  the  hall  took  me  on  to  the  stage, 
where  1  was  introduced  to  the  redoubtable  Jem, 
and  saw  all  that  was  going  on  from  the  wings. 
Two  or  three  local  men  opened  the  ball  by 
sparring  for  small  prizes  before  the  event  of  the 
evening  came  off,  and  then  occurred  the  cheek- 
iest piece  of  showman's  bluff  I  ever  heard.     The 


220        "wait  anD  ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

stage  was  set  with  all  of  Mace's  trophies  on  a  table 
at  the  back.  Montague,  Mace's  manager,  came 
on  and  gave  a  short  history  of  Mace's  career. 
He  then  described  each  trophy. 

"'Ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  belt  was  won 

by  Mr.  Mace  in  his  great  fight  with ,  in 

the  year  ,   at   .'     As  each  success 

with  belt  or  cup  was  described,  the  applause 
grew  bigger  and  bigger,  until  he  came  to  the 
championship-of-the-world  belt,  when  the  audi- 
ence nearly  shouted  itself  hoarse;  but  the  climax 
was  reached  when  Montague  concluded  some- 
what after  this  fashion  :  '  1  have  been  all  over 
the  world  with  Mr.  Mace,  on  the  prairies  of 
America,  in  the  backwoods  of  Canada,  on  the 
plains  of  India,  in  the  cities  of  Australia,  but 
Mr.  Mace  has  always  said  tome,  "Montague, 
you  must  take  me  to  Barrow-in-Furness."  ' 
Then  the  house  nearly  came  down." 

Stetson  Asserted  Himself 

During  the  run  of  Patience  at  the  Fifth  Ave- 
nue Theatre  in  New  York,  Sir  Arthur  Sullivan, 
conducting  the  opera,  complained  that  late 
comers  at  the  matinees  annoyed  the  audience. 

Stetson  immediately  sent  for  Sharp,  his  scenic 
artist,  to  paint  a  door  sign  to  the  effect  that  the 
matinees  invariably  began  at  two  o'clock  and 


mtt  anD  Ibumoi:  of  tbe  Staac        221 

that  late  comers  disturbed  the  performances. 
Obeying  the  orders,  tiie  scenic  artist  painted  a 
sign  in  large  letters  as  follows : 

"Please  Take  Notice!  The  Matinee  Per- 
formances Begin  at  Two  O' Clock  Sharp  !  " 

Steton  passed  the  theatre  later,  and,  seeing 
the  sign,  became  livid  with  rage.  He  sent  for 
the  scenic  artist  and  blurted  out,  "  Do  you  or  I 
run  this  theatre?  " 

"Of  course  you  are  the  manager,"  answered 
the  painter. 

"Then  get  busy  and  take  your  blank  name 
off  that  sign  and  put  in  its  place  '  John  Stetson.'  " 


Theatre  Music 

The  snare  drummer  happened  to  get  hold  of 
a  selection  that  called  for  the  use  of  half  a  dozen 
instruments.  It  took  some  lively  work  to  shift 
from  one  to  the  other  on  time,  and  persons  who 
sat  near  him  were  nightly  impressed.  When  he 
had  finished  the  lively  operation,  he  would  be 
puffing  and  blowing  and  perspiring  in  streams. 
One  evening  a  man  in  the  audience  just  outside 
the  orchestra  rail  leaned  forward,  and  pointing 
to  the  score  remarked  : 

"That  was  good  work,  old  man,  but  you 
missed  one  place." 

"I  did?"  replied  the  drummer  in  surprise. 


222        "mit  anO  Ibumoc  of  tbc  Stage 

♦♦  Why,  I  thought  I  played  everything  that  came 
my  way." 

"  No,"  the  other  resumed,  "  you  didn't  do  it 
all,  and  I  saw  the  leader  glance  at  you.  Right 
here  in  the  middle  of  that  measure  is  a  place 
where  you  should  have  gone  down  cellar  and 
shaken  the  furnace,  and  you  didn't  pay  the  least 
bit  of  attention  to  it." 

The  Deadheads 

I  once  knew  a  chronic  deadhead  whose  only 
claim  to  indulgence  in  the  dramatic  world  was 
based  on  the  fact  that  he  framed  the  pictures  in 
the  lobby  of  a  theatre  in  1904,  but  who  had 
nevertheless  somehow  got  himself  placed  on  the 
free  list.  And  one  night  I  came  upon  him  in 
the  lobby  of  the  theatre,  with  his  wife,  declaim- 
ing loudly  against  the  moral  tone  of  the  play. 
The  box-office  man  in  any  playhouse  can  tell 
you  sad  tales  of  the  deadheads.  According  to 
him  they  are  all  deaf,  for  every  one,  when  he 
presents  his  pass  to  secure  the  seat  coupons,  re- 
marks:  "My  hearing  isn't  very  good,  won't 
you  please  put  me  down  front?"  The  box- 
office  man  recently  told  me  he  had  heard  this 
request  just  fifty  times  that  day, 

*'  I  thought  your  show  was  a  success,"  said  I. 

"Oh,  1  don't  call  fifty  passes  a  day  bad  this 


latt  aiiD  ibumoc  ot  tbc  Stase        aas 

ir,"  said  he.  "  Ihe  press-agent  next  door 
i  to  get  a  rubber  stamp  to  sign  passes  with. 
:  was  threatened  with  neuritis." 

Bonanza  for  Rubbernecks 

The  star  assemblage  of  rubbernecks  enjoyed 
•msclves  to  the  full  at  the  professional  matinee 
The  Squaw  Man' s  Girl  of  the  Golden  West. 
To   see   the   necks   turned   from   the  stage  to 

boxes  where  sat  Blanche  Bates  and  William 
versham  was  a  spectacle  that  must  have  been 
ner  disconcerting  to  those  behind  the  foot- 
its  who  were  really  providing  the  fun.  Luck- 
for  the  throat-cords  of  the  rubbernecks,  Miss 
ies  and  Mr.  Faversham  were  both  on  the 
-le  side  of  the  house. 
vVhat  the  rubbernecks  missed,  however,  were 

remarks  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Faversham  (Julie 
p)  over  Ernest  Lambart's  impersonation  of 
^avvy  "  as  he  appears  in  The  Squaw  Man. 
"iibart,  by  the  way,  is  a  young  Englishman  of 
ilth  who  has  taken  up  the  stage  from  pure 
e  of  it,  and  the  British  swagger  he  puts  into 

hero's  walk  in  the  Weber  travesty  has  enough 
«ose  about  it  to  seem  almost  the  real  thing. 
•'But  I  don't  walk   like  that,  do  I  ?  "  whis- 
ed   "Favvy"  to  a  friend  in  the  box  with 

3. 


224        IWit  anD  ■fijumor  ot  tbc  Stage 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Faversham  was  confiding  to 
her  neighbor:  "Perfectly  grand,  isn't  it — that 
imitation  of  Willie's  walk?  " 


A  Missing  Return  Check 

Henry  E.  Dixey,  the  comedian,  tells  of  a  per- 
formance in  Chicago  where  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  say  which  was  worse,  the  play  or  the 
aciing. 

Dixey  had  been  strolling  about  the  lobby, 
during  an  entr'acte,  when  his  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  an  amusing  colloquy  between  the 
doorman  and  two  youths  seeking  read  mission. 
Only  one  of  the  young  men  had  been  able  to 
produce  his  return  check.  "  That's  all  right," 
said  he,  with  reference  to  his  companion.  "  You 
remember  him;  he's  with  me." 

"  I  remember  him  all  right,"  replied  the  door- 
man ;  "but  how  do  I  know  that  he  hasn't  given 
his  check  to  some  one?  " 

Whereupon  the  young  man  who  had  spoken 
before  now  solemnly  added,  "  Why,  man,  he's 
a  stranger  here,  and  hasn't  an  enemy  in  the 
city." 

••  Paper  " 
It  is  estimated  on  inside  authority  that  in  the 
thirty-odd   "  first-class "  theatres  in  New  York 


laait  anD  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage        225 

there  might  be  counted  at  least  six  thousand 
deadheads  on  any  Monday  night  this  season — 
Monday  night  being  the  evening  when  paid  at- 
tendance is  always  Hghtest.  The  various  devices 
used  by  the  managers  to  secure  deadhead  au- 
diences when  they  cannot  induce  the  paying 
kind  to  come  make  an  interesting  phase  of  theat- 
rical life. 

A  year  ago  I  sat  at  a  performance,  by  Nazi- 
mova,  of  The  Master  Builder,  and  behind  me 
sat  two  girls  who  chewed  gum  devotedly  and 
endeavored  to  find  out  what  the  play  was  all 
about.  From  their  conversation  I  gathered  that 
they  were  parcel  wrappers  in  a  Herald  Square 
department  store.  After  the  second  act  one  of 
them  remarked  to  the  other  in  an  injured  tone  : 
"  And  Mr.  Hawkswell  said  this  show  was  a  com- 
edy !  "  "A  bug-house  funeral,  I  call  it,"  was 
the  reply. 

This  autumn  two  girls  of  similar  stripe  sat 
behind  a  friend  of  mine  in  the  orchestra  of  a 
leading  Broadway  theatre.  But  the  play  was 
not  Ibsen.  It  was  a  native,  domestic  melodrama, 
with  a  villain  perfectly  recognizable  by  his  pearl- 
gray  derby  and  his  cigarette.  As  he  made  his 
exit  at  the  end  of  the  first  act,  R.  u.  e.,  laughing 
a  prophetic  and  horrid  laugh,  one  of  the  girls 
exclaimed  with  deep  feeling  :   "  Gosh  !  ain't  it 


226        THatt  anO  Ibumor  ot  tbe  Stage 

orful,  this  revenge  !  "  And  I  have  heard  a  girl 
of  the  same  type  inquire  at  a  perforniance  of  a 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  when  Queen 
Titan ia  and  her  train  entered  :  "  Are  them  things 
angels?" 

It  was  at  Hamlet,  that  the  pompadour  beside 
me  exclaimed,  as  the  Prince  plunged  his  sword 
through  the  arras:  "He's  killed  old  Foxy 
Grandpa!" 

To  the  initiated  the  presence  of  such  girls  in 
a  Broadway  theatre  apparently  crowded  to  the 
doors  indicates  paper,  it  indicates  that  the  theatre 
is  being  filled  by  artificial  means,  by  the  distri- 
bution of  free  seats  in  the  big  department  stores. 


Too  Great  a  Strain 
Every  once  in  a  while  the  actor  while  taking 
the  part  of  a  dude  in  a  play  would  spend  large 
sums  of  his  stage  money.  On  one  of  these  oc- 
casions it  seemed  too  much  for  a  certain  person 
in  the  audience,  when  a  voice  rang  shrill  and 
clear  through  the  house,  "  Hey,  Bill,  how  about 
that  five  you  owe  me?  " 


The  Fatherly  Critic 
That  James  J.  Corbett  is  the  ablest  and  most 
conscientious  of  the  prize-fighters  who  have  at- 
tempted the  stage  is  admitted  even  by  the  hu- 


mtt  auD  Ibinnoc  of  tbe  Stage        227 

morous  reporters  who  have  hitherto  been  his 
chief  critics.  On  the  first  night  of  his  recent 
engagement  in  New  York  as  the  hero  of  Bernard 
Shaw's  romance  of  the  pugihst,  Cashel  Byron's 
Profession,  he  told  an  anecdote  which  quite  un- 
consciously indicated  this.  On  his  ai)pearance 
in  San  Francisco,  his  home  town,  in  a  Naval 
Cadet,  his  father,  who  is  old  and  somewhat  deaf, 
sat  in  the  front  row.  After  the  performance  the 
actor  asked  the  old  man  what  he  thought  of  his 
acting. 

"  It  was  a  great  part,"  said  the  elder  Corbett. 
"Yes,  brass  buttons  were  fine." 

"  But  the  acting  ?  "  the  son  insisted.  "  I  want 
to  know  how  I  can  make  it  better." 

"As  for  that,"  the  father  replied,  "I  can't 
say.  I  was  that  busy  trying  to  hear  what  ye 
said,  I  couldn't  take  observations." 


The  Fatal  Truth 

After  the  storm  of  applause  by  the  ushers  had 
died  away  the  author  came  down  to  the  foot- 
lights and  began  to  speak. 

"Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "the 
play  isn't  very  good.  I  got  the  climax  of  the 
third  act  from  a  magazine  story  that  was  copied 
from  a  plot  that  Wilkie  Collins  took  from  Boc- 
caccio.    The  second  act  is  mostly  from  East 


228        TKait  ano  Ibumoc  ot  tbe  Stafle 

Lynne,  although  I  have  other  stuff  from  Jim  the 
Penman.  The  first  act  would  have  been  better 
if  I  had  used  it  just  exactly  as  Boucicault  wrote 
it,  but  I  had  to  change  it  in  some  places  where 
it  didn't  gibe  with  the  rest.  It  was  very  hard  to 
keep  all  the  characters  alive  and  well  long  enough 
to  get  them  to  the  big  scene.  And  then  I  found 
further  difficulty  in  killing  off  enough  of  them 
so  that  they  wouldn't  get  in  each  other's  way  in 
the  last  act. 

*'  The  star  has  been  working  under  great  diffi- 
culties this  evening.  I  arranged  it  so  that  she 
would  have  all  the  best  positions  in  the  moon- 
light passages  and  the  firelight  scenes.  But  at 
the  last  minute  her  dressmaker  disappointed  her, 
and  she  has  been  obliged  to  wear  the  same  gown 
for  over  an  hour.  She  is  at  present  in  her 
dressing-room  tearing  her  hair — the  hair  she 
wore  in  the  second  act. 

"  It  is  our  intention  to  keep  this  play  on  for  a 
month  at  least  here  in  this  big  city,  so  we  can  fool 
the  public  by  advertising  a  '  Big  Metropolitan 
Success '  when  we  go  on  the  road.  As  our 
backer  is  a  personal  friend  of  the  star,  this,  of 
course,  will  be  easy.  She  isn't  much  of  an  ac- 
tress, as  you  know,  but  her  figure  is  perfect,  and 
she  is  very  good  to  her  mother.  The  manager 
knew  the  show  was  a  lemon  after  the  first  act, 


IKIllt  an£)  t>umor  of  tbc  Stage        229 

and  he  has  sent  the  press-agent  out  with  a  bunch 
of  free  tickets  so  we  will  be  sure  of  an  audience 
to-morrow  night. 

"I  don't  care  much  whether  you  applaud  or 
not,  and  I  would  have  made  a  speech  at  this 
point  anyhow,  because  my  contract  gives  me 
that  privilege.  I'm  going  home  now,  because  1 
have  seen  the  last  act  and  I  simply  can't  stand 
it.    The  last  act  is  all  my  own.     Good-evening." 


Goodwin  and  the  Dog 

Nat  Goodwin,  the  American  comedian,  when 
at  the  Shaftesbury  Theatre,  London,  told  of  an 
experience  he  once  had  with  a  juvenile  dead- 
head in  a  town  in  America.  Standing  outside 
the  theatre  a  little  time  before  the  performance 
was  due  to  begin,  he  observed  a  small  boy  with 
an  anxious,  forlorn  look  on  his  face  and  a 
weedy-looking  pup  in  his  arms. 

Goodwin  inquired  what  was  the  matter,  and 
was  told  that  the  boy  wished  to  sell  the  dog  so 
as  to  raise  the  price  of  a  seat  in  the  gallery. 
The  actor  suspected  at  once  a  dodge  to  secure  a 
pass  on  "the  sympathy  racket,"  but  allowing 
himself  to  be  taken  in  he  gave  the  boy  a  pass. 
The  dog  was  deposited  in  a  safe  place,  and  the 
boy  was  able  to  watch  Goodwin  as  the  Gilded 


230        "Wllit  nnt>  Ibiimor  of  tbc  Stage 

Fool  from  a  good  seat  in  the  gallery.     Next  day 

Goodwin  saw  the  boy  again  near  the  theatre,  so 

he  asked : 

"  Well,  sonny,  how  did  you  like  the  show?" 
"I'm  glad  I  didn't  sell  my  dog,"  was  the 

reply. 


Barnabee's  Great  Effort 

"  I  have  just  had  a  narrow  escape  from  a 
fatal  attack  of  heart  disease,"  said  Sol  Smith 
Russell  to  some  friends  who  were  joking  him  in 
Manager  Hartz's  office  at  the  opera  house  the 
other  day. 

He  looked  so  solemn  that  those  around  him 
feared,  for  a  moment,  that  he  really  meant  it. 
Then  he  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  ex- 
plained. 

"  I've  just  received  a  rebate  of  $7.50  from  a 
Cincinnati  hotel,  where  I  paid  a  restaurant  check 
twice.  If  such  a  thing  has  ever  happened  to 
any  other  actor  I'd  like  to  get  his  picture  to  use 
as  a  souvenir.  Here's  a  little  story,"  he  con- 
tinued, "about  Barnabee,  of  the  Bostonians. 
Not  long  ago  he  went  to  his  old  home,  down 
East,  on  a  visit,  and  the  folks  got  up  a  recep- 
tion for  him,  at  which  he  was  to  sing.  Of 
course,  Barnabee  proceeded  to  do  his  level  best, 


Mtt  anO  t)umor  ot  tbe  Stage        231 

and  when  he  was  through  the  folks  didn't  know 
how  to  express  themselves  and  there  was  an 
awkward  silence,  which  was  finally  broken  by 
an  old  man,  who  stood  up,  wiping  his  face  and 
his  bald  head  violently,  as  he  said  : 
"  '  Henry,  I'm  a-sweatin'  fer  ye.'  " 


Hawtrey  and  the  Deadhead 

An  amusing  story  is  told  of  an  encounter 
Charles  Hawtrey  had  with  a  would-be  dead- 
head in  a  small  town  during  a  recent  tour  in  the 
United  States.  He  was  standing  in  the  lobby 
of  the  theatre  one  evening,  when  a  man  came  up 
to  him  and  said:  "Are  you  Mr.  Hawtrey?" 
The  reply  being  in  the  affirmative,  the  fellow 
said  : 

"  Do  you  '  Recognize  '  the  profession  ?  " 

"Are  you  an  actor?"  asked  Mr.  Hawtrey, 
scenting  a  little  fun. 

The  fellow  said  "Yes,"  and,  being  asked  if 
he  was  a  tragedian,  said  he  was. 

The  dialogue  went  on  :  "  Did  you  ever  play 
Julius  Ccesar  ?  ' ' 

"Oh,  yes." 

"//am/el?" 

•  Naw,   I    never   played   any  of  them  small 
towns. ' ' 


232        IRIltt  anO  •fiDumor  of  tbe  Stafle 

In  the  Front  Row 

"  Any  man  with  a  sense  of  humor,"  once  ob- 
served Frank  Daniels,  the  comedian,  "can 
always  find  something  to  his  entertainment  if 
he  will  stand  near  the  box-office  window  of  '  the 
opry  house '  in  any  small  town  and  listen  to  the 
Rubes  as  they  make  known  their  wants  to  the 
man  who  peddles  the  tickets. 

"Out  in  Ohio  one  afternoon  I  was  standing 
near  the  box-office  window  a  few  minutes  before 
the  beginning  of  a  matinee  given  by  a  friend's 
combination.  A  fine  old  boy  from  the  country 
— one  of  the  kind  that  sees  about  one  show  in 
two  years — approached  the  window,  his  roll  in 
hand,  and  delivered  himself  of  the  following : 

"  Say,  young  feller  !  (in  a  voice  loud  enough 
to  be  heard  a  block  away)  gimme  a  good  seat ! 
I  want  it  right  down  in  the  middle  lane  and  close 
up  to  the  exercises  !  " 

An  Evident  Error 
When  P.  T.  Barnum  was  at  the  head  of  his 
"great  moral  show,"  it  was  his  rule  to  send 
complimentary  tickets  to  clergymen,  and  the 
custom  is  continued  to  this  day.  Not  long  ago, 
after  the  Reverend  Doctor  Walker  succeeded  to 
the  pastorate  of  the  Reverend  Doctor  Hawks, 
in  Hartford,  there  came  to  the  parsonage,  ad- 


TOfltt  anD  Ibumor  of  tbc  Stage        233 

dressed  to  Doctor  Hawks,  tickets  for  the  circus, 
with  the  compliments  of  the  famous  showman. 
Doctor  Walker  studied  the  tickets  for  a  moment, 
and  then  remarked : 

"  Doctor  Hawks  is  dead  and  Mr.  Barnum  is 
dead;  evidently  they  haven't  met." 


Must  Have  Been  Bad 

One    of   our   leading   actor-author-managers 
tells  the  following  yarn. 

A  certain  man  obtained  admittance  to  a  the- 
atre on  a  free  pass.  The  play  was  an  execrably 
bad  one,  and  the  company  playing  it  was  even 
worse.  When  the  curtain  fell  on  the  first  act, 
sounds  of  marked  disapprobation  were  heard 
from  all  parts  of  the  theatre.  The  deadhead 
alone  sat  quiet,  and  did  not  join  in  the  general 
storm  of  disapprobation.  At  the  close  of  the 
second  act  a  perfect  tornado  of  groans,  cat-calls 
and  hisses  broke  out  among  the  thoroughly  dis- 
gusted audience.  Still  the  free-ticket  man  sat 
unmoved.  At  last  a  man  sitting  in  the  next  seat 
turned  to  him  and  said  : 

"Pardon  me,  but  are  you  not  disgusted  with 
this  wretched  play  ?  " 

"  I  am,  indeed,"  heartily  concurred  the  dead- 
head. 


234        Mit  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stase 

*'  Then  why  don't  you  signify  the  sanae  in  the 
usual  manner?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  am  in  hereon  a  free  ticket, 
and  as  I  am  getting  something  for  nothing  I 
hardly  feel  justified  in  expressing  my  disap- 
proval; but  I'll  tell  you  what.  If  this  con- 
founded play  gets  much  worse  I'll  go  to  the  box- 
office  and  buy  a  ticket,  and  come  back  and  hiss 
like  the  rest  of  you  !  " 


A  Lunatic  Audience 

"One  of  the  most  appreciative  audiences  I 
ever  had,"  said  Harry  Lauder  after  his  return 
to  England,  "  was  a  thousand  lunatics  at  Ward's 
Island.  I  sang  them  '  The  Saftest  of  the  Family,' 
and  they  didn't  mind  at  all,  but  joined  in  the 
chorus.  Then  I  taught  them  to  sing  '  I  Love  a 
Lassie,'  and  I  never  heard  it  sung  before  as  they 
did  it.     They  nearly  lifted  the  roof. 

"  After  the  performance,  one  of  them,  an  old 
lady,  took  me  aside  very  confidentially.  She 
told  me  '  For  heaven's  sake,  Mr.  Lauder,  do 
nothing  to  let  them  think  you  are  a  little  bit  mad. 
Don't  make  any  faces  or  anything  of  the  kind. 
If  they  see  the  slightest  sign  of  insanity,  God 
help  you,  for  they'll  take  you  and  lock  you  up 
in  this  terrible  place.'  " 


Tttait  anD  Ibumor  of  tbe  Stage        '235 

Advice  From  the  Gallery 
One  of  the  best  stories  concerning  Charles 
Warner  tells  of  an  amusing  incident  which  hap- 
pened when  he  was  appearing  in  a  play  written 
by  Mr.  George  R.  Sims,  in  which  he  was  sup- 
posed to  be  starving  m  a  garret.  Before  going 
on  the  stage  he  had  forgotten  to  remove  a  val- 
uable diamond  ring,  which  glistened  on  his 
finger.  He  had  a  peculiar  trick  of  extending  his 
hand  high  above  his  head,  and  this  night  the 
light  caught  the  gem  and  made  it  flash  at  the 
very  moment  he  was  declaring  :  "  My  wife  and 
child  are  starving  and  I  cannot  give  them  bread. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  A  voice 
from  the  gallery  responded  :  "  Pawn  yer  ring, 
guv' nor !  " 


The  Point  of  View 

The  manager  of  a  suburban  music-hall  was 
testing  the  abilities  of  a  few  candidates  for  stage 
honors  one  day  last  week,  and  this  is  how  he  let 
down  one  of  the  would-be  funny  men  : 

"  Your  songs  won't  do  for  me.  I  can't  allow 
any  profanity  in  my  theatre,"  said  he. 

"  But  I  don't  use  profanity,"  was  the  reply. 

"No,"  said  the  manager,  "but  the  audience 
would." 


236        "mn  anD  Ibumoc  of  tbe  Stage 

Samples  of  Ready  Wit 

In  Dick  Whiitington,  a  very  popular  panto- 
mime in  the  provinces,  a  youth  is  dressed  up  tc 
represent  and  play  the  part  of  the  cat  that  fol- 
lows the  future  Lord  Mayor  of  London  over  the 
hills  to  the  city.  When  Miss  King  walked  onto 
the  stage  of  a  provincial  theatre  on  Boxing  Night, 
with  a  basin  in  her  hand,  calling  out,  "Come 
on,  pussy  !  "  she  was  somewhat  surprised  to  find, 
on  turning  round,  that  a  real  cat  had  followed 
her  on  to  the  stage.  It  belonged  to  the  prop- 
erty-master and  knew  Miss  King  well,  for  during 
the  rehearsals  she  had  petted  and  fed  it. 

Not  wishing  to  make  a  disturbance  by  driving 
the  animal  away,  Miss  King  addressed  it,  as 
Dick^  Whittington  does  the  conventional  pan- 
tomime creature,  saying,  "  They  have  turned  us 
out  of  London,  pussy."  The  cat  promptly 
showed  its  sympathy  by  mewing,  an  action 
which  brought  down  the  house.  Soon  after  the 
lost  pantomime  creature,  who  had  missed  his 
cue,  strolled  on  to  the  scene.  Here  again  Miss 
King  secured  another  hit.  Turning  to  the 
smaller  creature,  she  said,  "Oh,  pussy,  here 
comes  your  mother  !  "  at  which  the  audience 
simply  shouted  with  laughter. 


Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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